


Dreaming of a Better Future

by Flufferdoodle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Animagus Harry Potter, M/M, Self-Hatred, Slow Build, Suicide Attempt, TR/HP - Freeform, Time Travel, Young Tom Riddle, slow-ish build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4464338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flufferdoodle/pseuds/Flufferdoodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Fate doesn't write a happy ending. Sometimes one has to write their own, starting at the beginning.</p><p>Cross-posted to Fanfiction.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Super Short Prologue

_No… no, no, no…_.

Harry backed up until he hit the tree behind him, eyes refusing to leave Draco’s cold body.

Laughter screeched and hollered throughout the Death Eater ranks, Voldemort at the head of them all, gloating above the broken body.

_No..._

The Elder Wand came into his blurry vision. Could it kill him?

Harry looked over at Hagrid, the half-giant’s face soaked with blood, and then at the mangled remains of Snape’s body.

_No._

His gaze drifted back to the Elder Wand.

Did it matter?

The Boy Who Lived heard a final shriek of laughter and, just as green light arched from the wand, Harry spun the Time Turner as hard as he could.

 

Time and Fate had always gotten on well. They were intertwined with the fabric of the Universe, powers that were strongest when together. As Fate laid out the destinies of all souls, Time pulled them along over all the bumps and dips in the road.

But every now and then there was a slip-up.

The biggest one of these slips, Time would argue, was the invention of the Time-Turner. It was an unnatural sort of magic, Time claimed, a feeble attempt at a mastery of a power no living thing should have any control over.

Fate had promptly responded that this was actually a fascinating development and immediately began scrawling out complicated lifelines for its favorite playthings. Besides, Fate argued, it was Hogwarts this was happening at. No place on that measly planet, or really in that galaxy, was so close to the powers.

They didn’t talk for, well, quite some time and Death eventually had to go chat with Time and inform it that yes, while giving the humans on Earth the power to master them wasn’t exactly fun, there was no arguing with Fate and everything generally had the odd habit of working itself out. Emphasis on generally.

Besides, Death had said, these humans already had unnatural powers flowing through them as it was. There was no way to stop them.

So Time had accepted the Time-Turner, albeit grudgingly, and couldn’t help its sigh of relief when they were immediately locked away and rarely used.

Of course, that was before Harry Potter happened.

Time had considered killing the insolent weakling the second he started his flight away from his era, as it had done to so many who dare spin back more than a handful of hours, but Death outright refused to pull the broken soul into its realm. Fate assured it that it would turn out alright and started hurriedly searching for its plans for the boy.

Time refused to listen and instead set about stripping the Wizard of any possessions that would make this hell even harder to manage and tried to mend where the universal fabric started to unravel. Death looked over its shoulder and sighed at the mangled mass of threads before simply severing them, and Time watched in horror as two lines formed at the point where Harry Potter landed.

This was a mess far beyond any human comprehension, however, and had no direct bearing on the now naked man slumped in the just outside of Hogwarts’ Forbidden Forest August 24th, 1943.


	2. Veritaserum

“Are you ready?”

 _No_ , Harry thought. _No I’m not. Nor will I ever be_.

“I have to be, don’t I?” he said, forcing a smile. Hermione looked back at him with pity.

“I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

“That’s what everyone wishes.”

“How’s Draco handling it?”

Harry snorted. “How would Ron handle it if you were sent to kill Voldemort? He won’t leave my side. Barely can get him off to use the loo. The only reason he’s not here now is I forced that damned sleeping draught down his throat lest he collapse from exhaustion.” Not that I mind.

Hermione sighed, smiling slightly. “You ended up being really good for him, I think.”

“Same the other way around. I’m not sure where I’d be right now without him.”

“He loves you.”

“I know. I love him too.”

  
  


Professor Dumbledore felt his thoughts wander as he continued on with his regular evening stroll of the Hogwarts grounds. School would be in session a week and a day from now, and he still hadn’t finished redecorating his classroom. Professor Merrythought was also going to be missing the first week and a half of school and the headmaster still had not found a substitute to take her place for that time.

He frowned, almost tripping as his feet stumbled into something. A second glance had him reeling back in shock, hand flying to his wand.

The body of a teenager lay in a heap before him, bare and cold. Not dead though, Albus noted as he knelt and felt for a pulse. Not dead.

He had a wand gripped tightly in his hand, a mangled lump of gold and sand in the other, messy black hair and a large lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead. Albus stared.

Hogwarts was a strange place, indeed.

He shed his outer robes and tucked the boy into them before carrying him up to the Infirmary. He could ensure the boy was tended to before summoning Dippet, and then everything could be talked over. Perhaps the boy would start an education at Hogwarts; he was no doubt a wizard, a powerful one from the feeling of his magic, and he was still possibly young enough to be a sixth or seventh year. Yes, that would work...

  


Harry Potter woke up with a decidedly unheroic shriek as cold water flooded over him. He bolted upright and pulled his arms around him, teeth chattering, before looking up.

The kind eyes of Dumbledore stared back down at him, worried.

“Oh shit,” Harry swore before any other word could escape him. He studied the man before him, whose frown did nothing but deepen.

Yup, he was dead.

Dead, dead, dead.

Panic immediately started to pick at his brain, but Harry forced it back. After all, Dumbledore was here. He could explain what was happening.

“Uh, sorry Professor,” he amended quickly. “I just… How did it happen?”

Dumbledore blinked and glanced to the left. Harry followed his movement and saw a rather frail looking man in plainly colored robes next to him. Must be one of Dumbledore’s old friends.

“How did what happen?” Dumbledore asked.

“My, uh, you know… Death, Professor Dumbledore. How did I die?” Harry’s mind reeled back, trying to see what had happened. There was Draco, yes… he couldn’t dwell on that loss now, and then the laughter, and then… “Did Voldemort’s curse land?”

At this point the other man cleared his throat and caught his attention.

“You know Dumbledore,” he stated, eyebrows raised. “Albus, who is this?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Dumbledore responded. Harry blanched.

“I-but-Dumbledore, it’s me. Harry Potter? You-you were-Voldemort-Draco-” he stammered out a few more words before his headmaster rested his hand on Harry’s shoulder, gently pushing him back into a laying position.

“Harry,” Dumbledore stated, checking the boys face for confirmation. Harry nodded, eyes wide. “We have never met before, and I’m fairly certain you are not dead.”

Harry stared, hand clenching. “Sir,” he said carefully, trying to force his thoughts together. They refused to. He fell silent, instead staring at his empty hands. Not dead.

Not dead.

Oh.

_Oh._

Harry looked up at Dumbledore once more, realization settling into the pit of his stomach.

“Oh,” he stated out loud.

“Oh _what_ ,” the man next to Dumbledore said.

Harry didn’t respond for a while. What did he say? What was he supposed to say? Oh, sorry, I just happened to fail in my war against the Dark Lord some years into the future and he killed my best friends, boyfriend, and family and was about to kill me so I just went back in time. Guess I’ll be hanging around here for a while then.

He snorted.

Dumbledore and the other man stared.

“What year is it?” Harry asked after a moment.

“Nineteen forty-three.”

“Nineteen forty- oh shit.” Dumbledore’s companion raised an eyebrow.

“Watch your language,” he said sharply. “What year did you think it was?”

Harry frowned and considered how honest he should be about the situation. Outright lies never worked, but… Remember Hermione’s speech on the dangers of time travel all the way back in third year, it would probably be best to not spill everything. He decided to just ignore the question for now. “What year is Tom Riddle at school?”

He heard Dumbledore suck in a breath and mentally nodded. Dumbledore had not lied about his disdain towards the boy. The other man, however, scowled.

“Do tell me, Harry, why I would freely hand out personal information about a student to some half-grown child who appeared naked on our grounds?”

Harry fought the urge to scowl back. It was probably best to stay on everyone’s good side. “Sorry sir.” He definitely did not sound it. “It’s just… It’s very important. Trust me.”

“I can’t say I do.”

“Who are you?”

“Armando Dippet, Headmaster of Hogwarts.” Harry wasn’t too surprised. He definitely resembled one of the portraits in the office, come to think of it. “Now, it is us who should be doing the questioning here I believe. So, if you would be so kind, who are you and how did you get here?”

“Harry James Potter. I can’t say I know for sure, but from what I remember I used a Time-Turner.”

Dippet stared at him for some time before turning to Dumbledore. “Go get some Veritaserum from Horace. I will not put up with this nonsense.”

Harry blanched. “Uh, sir-”

“Now,” Dippet clarified, and Dumbledore left the room.

Harry felt bile rising up in the back of his throat and he pulled his knees to his chest. The room he was in looked quite a bit like the Infirmary, except the beds were wooden and with red covers instead of white with a rather ugly green and purple carpet on the floor.

“Sir,” he started once more. Dippet ignored him, instead standing and pacing.

The hellish silence ended quickly, however, as Dumbledore quickly returned with a small vial of the serum. Dippet wasted no time in wrenching Harry’s mouth open and pouring it in. Harry’s mouth and nose were plugged before he could spit it out.

He felt himself weaken and his mind grew fuzzy as the potion quickly worked its way through him. Dippet smiled somewhere behind a cloud of haze.

“What is your name?”

“Harry James Potter.” His mouth spoke without him letting it. This was not going to go well. Not at all.

“And when is your birthday?”

“July 31st, 1980.”

Dippet and Dumbledore exchanged a look.

“Did someone try to kill you?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Lord Voldemort. Also, Peter Pettigrew, though indirectly. Also, Lucius Malfoy, though indirectly. Also, Albus Dumbledore. Also-”

“Stop. Why did Albus try to kill you?”

“He did not mean to kill me.” God, god, god.

“But you just said that he tried to kill you.”

“He wanted me to do something that would result in my death. He knew I would die. It was not his intention.” As horrible as the situation was, it did give him a slight satisfaction to see Dumbledore look abashed. He also faintly noticed a quill and parchment automatically recording the entire conversation.

“Oh. What did he want you to do?”

“Fulfill the prophecy. Kill Lord Voldemort. Destroy Voldemort’s horcruxes. Save Hogwarts. Have a good education. Love. Inspire friends. Live up to my family’s name. Understand Severus Snape. Understand my father. Assist him. T-”

“Stop. Who is Lord Voldemort?”

This was not going to end well. “The Dark Lord. Tom Marvolo Riddle. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

All was silent save the scratching of the quill. Harry wondered when the serum would wear off.

“How did you get here?” Ah, subject change.

“I do not know for certain.”

“What do you remember.”

“I was in the forest and had the Resurrection Stone. I saw my parents and Sirius Black. I continued into the forest where Voldemort was waiting. He had Draco. He had already killed Severus Snape. He killed Draco. Hogwarts was under attack and Hogwarts was losing. He came closer. I spun the Time Turner and I woke up here.”

“And where did you get the Time-Turner?”

“Albus Dumbledore gave it to me in his office.”

“When?”

“January. Nineteen ninety-six.”

“Why?”

“He was worried. Something was not following his plan. He thought I would need it.”

“Who is Draco?”

That was a question Harry did not want to answer for an entirely different set of reasons.

“The Malfoy Heir. Ex-Death Eater. My boyfriend. My former rival. A hero. Second in his class. Seventh-year Slytherin.” He couldn’t be sure, but something in Dumbledore’s expression seemed to soften at the mention of boyfriend.

“Do you wish harm upon either of us?”

Well. That was a change.

“I do not think so.”

“What year did you come here from?”

“Nineteen ninety-eight.”

“And Voldemort… Tom, he is a Dark Lord at this point?”

“Yes.”

“Why were you chosen to kill him?”

“There was a prophecy. He chose me.”

“Elaborate.”

“Sybill Trelawney saw a prophecy. It concerned Voldemort. It concerned a boy born at the end of July. Two boys were born at the end of July. Voldemort marked me as his equal.”

“How did he mark you as his equal?”

“He cast the killing curse on me when I was one year old.”

Silence.

“How did you survive?”

“My mother’s love.”

More silence. Harry hoped it would last until the serum wore off.

“Who are you?” Dippet wondered out loud. It was most likely rhetorical, but the serum forced him to answer.

“Harry James Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. Master of Death. Triwizard Champion. Gryffindor Seeker. Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. Leader of Dumbledore’s Army. Son of James Potter. Son of Lily-”

“S-stop. Stop.” The two professors looked thoroughly shaken.

“Tom Riddle.” It was Dumbledore speaking this time. “He becomes a Dark Lord?” Harry would’ve rolled his eyes if he could They already asked that.

“Yes.”

“How? Why?”

“He creates Horcruxes. He kills my parents. He kills his family. He gathers a following. He studies the Dark Arts. He becomes powerful. He is killed. He is resurrected. His following returns.” Harry honestly wasn’t exactly sure what he would say about this without the truth serum. “He hates Muggles. He hates everything.”

“And… and you’re back in time with him now. What are you going to do?”

“I do not know. Stop him.”

“How?”

“I do not know.”

“Are you going to kill him?”

“If I have no other choice.”

The haze started to clear. Thank Merlin.

“Why?”

“I would fall. I would become no better than him.”

Harry felt his cheeks heat up and the haze drifted away. He rubbed his eyes and glared as hard as he could at the two of them.

“Any other questions?” he snapped. Neither answered. Dippet sat on the bed next to him and placed his head in his hands. “What? Not what you expected?” Harry leapt to his feet and started to storm out before Dumbledore grabbed him.

“Stop. We need to discuss this more?”

“Discuss what more?” Harry demanded. “My showing up here? Sorry, I wasn’t exactly planning on popping 54 years into the past!”

Dumbledore’s face fell. “No,” he stated quietly. “What are you going to do now that you’re here?”

Harry sighed. “Hell if I know. What year is Tom Riddle going to be in?”

“Sixth.”

Harry scowled. The first Horcrux had already been made.

“I don’t know. I can’t exactly leave Hogwarts, and if he’s here, I need to do something.”

“How old are you? Can you take your seventh year at Hogwarts?” Dippet was a bit kinder now.

“I’d rather not. Too many questions as to why I wasn’t here before,” Harry said stiffly. “I’m seventeen. Is there any kind of job I can take? Anywhere I can just live? There’s not much I can really… I have nowhere else to go.”

“We need a week substitute for Merrythought,” Dumbledore said immediately. Dippet scowled.

“Nonsense. He’s too young,” the headmaster stated.

“Wise beyond his years from the look of it. It would only be a week and a half. He could be introduced to Tom,” Dumbledore argued. “Come. Harry, how good are you at Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

“The best in my year,” Harry stated stiffly. “I was kind of, you know, sent to war against the dark arts.” He could help the bitterness in his voice, even if this Dumbledore had nothing to do with his future mission.

“And could you manage kids your own age for a week and a half?” Dumbledore continued.

“Who the hell do you think trained everyone in the army?” Harry demanded.

“Watch your language or I won’t even consider it,” Dippet snapped. “I will need to discuss this with Albus and interview you later for it. For now, rest. If I discover you have left the Infirmary…” his voice trailed off threateningly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry muttered, slumping onto the bed. “I’m going to sleep if that’s alright with you.”

 

 


	3. A Silver Dragon

Harry’s mouth was dry as Draco hauled him down the stairs. He couldn’t focus on anything, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t feel.

Dumbledore was dead.

Dumbledore was dead, and Snape killed him.

He was just beginning to trust the slimy bastard and Snape had killed him.

He-he had known that Draco was supposed to, that Voldemort was going to have Dumbledore dead by the end of the year, but…

Snape killed him.

Snape.

  


Tom Riddle impatiently stared at the Sorting Hat as it did its yearly run of students. He didn’t care much for the beginning of the year ceremonies, but the consequences of his absence outweighed escaping the bore-fest.

So he sat still as the hat rattled off name after name, house after house. His eyes swept over the staff table, and was pleased to note there were no changes…

Ah. But there was one. Professor Merrythought was absent, and in her place sat a boy, no older than some of the seventh years, with the wildest black hair Tom had ever seen. He was too far away for Tom to make out any defining features, but he looked small and thin between Kettleburn and Dumbledore. Curious.

Dippet walked to the front once the final name was called and the cheering settled down at once, a smile splitting the normally strict man’s face.

“I welcome each and every one of you to our school,” he beamed. “Now-beginning of the year announcements. The forest is strictly off-limits to all students, and no magic is allowed in the corridors between classes. Any magical items designed to cause distractions inside class or passing periods are strictly prohibited. Mr. Pringle has my explicit permission to administer five lashes for any student infracting on these rules.” Tom Riddle noticed the new professor’s face pale dramatically.

“Professor Merrythought will be gone these next 2 weeks as she has family business to take care of elsewhere. In the meantime, Professor Potter will be taking her place. I expect you will treat him with utmost respect while he is here. Do not cross him.” The boy-Potter-rose, barely two inches taller than Dumbledore seated next to him. Small and scrawny indeed. Tom absently wondered why he was chosen as murmurs and polite claps echoed throughout the hall.

“Now, until Merrythought returns, I will be the effective head of Ravenclaw. And with that-let us begin the year!”

Cheers erupted as food appeared on the tables. Tom didn’t hesitate to stack his plate high and dig in-the orphanage food was downright disgusting and Hogwarts feasts were always, always heaven.

It was over soon, and he flooded out the halls with everyone else. Abraxas Malfoy caught up with him quickly, and Tom found himself trapped in a conversation about the pureblood’s summer. Chills ran through him moments later, however, and Tom glanced over his shoulder. Professor Potter was staring straight at him, green eyes boring into his own brown ones. Avada kedavra green eyes, from the looks of it. Odd.

 

The next morning had Tom in the second row, fourth seat of Potter’s Defense class. Abraxas was next to him, lazily twirling his wand with his resident sneer on his face. The teacher wasn’t here yet, but the room was full nonetheless. Incessant chatter carried on for quite a while until the bell rang and the doors flew open. The Professor strode down the aisle between the rows of desks, rage etched into every corner of his face, robes billowing out behind him.

The doors slammed shut as he reached the front of the room and everyone stared in dead silence. Potter glared back for a moment before sighing, his face relaxing.

“Okay. Okay. So,” he started, gaze sweeping over the class, “I’m Professor Potter. I’m filling in for Professor Merrythought for a while, but unfortunately she left no lesson plans behind, so I’m just going to run through a list of defensive charms that probably aren’t covered in the curriculum and class’ll be kinda chill the next couple weeks. Capisce?”

Everyone stared at him blankly and the professor’s face reddened. Tom blinked. Was this man okay?

“I… okay, capisce. Now. First things first. Attendance.” He conjured the list of students out of seemingly nowhere and ran through it quickly. No absences. Of course, Tom thought, nobody would dare miss out on such a strange professor.

“Good, good. So, let’s start basic. Who knows what dementors are?”

For all his oddness, he sure was confident. Tom was among a handful of students who raised their hands. Potter glanced at all of them, eyes widening when he spotted Tom, before swallowing and calling on Edward Longbottom.

“Robed creatures, sir. They feed on the happiness of others and can suck out their souls. The Ministry wants to use them to guard Azkaban.”

Potter was nodding until that last bit, when something briefly flashed across his face. He recovered without a pause, though. “Correct. Five points to…” he glanced at the boy, “Gryffindor? Yes?” Edward nodded. “And who can tell me the best defense against a dementor?”

Tom raised his hand again, the only one this time, and Potter seemed to almost hesitate before calling on him.

“The Patronus Charm, Professor.”

Potter nodded, eyes not quite leaving him. “Yes. Five points to Slytherin. The Patronus Charm. Has that been covered in this class yet?”

“Professor Merrythought demonstrated it to us during our first year, but never showed us how. Said it wasn’t generally learned unless you became an Auror,” Walburga called out from the back. Potter grinned slightly.

“Glad I’ll be able to teach you something, then. The Patronus Charm is generally regarded as a more complex form of magic, and requires diligence and concentration. Once mastered it can do more than send away dementors. It can carry messages, light paths, and repel some creatures wishing you harm. Your Patronus is an animal that reflects certain aspects of yourself, and can change after various life events or changes in emotion. Couples often find their Patronus has changed after marriage.

“To cast it, you need to find the happiest thought you can find and pour your heart into it. The incantation is ‘Expecto Patronum.’ It usually takes a bit of practice; I don’t expect anyone will get it on their first try.”

And with that, he cast a large, silvery young dragon, which charged out of his wand before slinking over to the Professor’s side. Tom tried not to stare; the dragon was far more clearer than Merrythought’s owl had been, and she was supposed to be known for her strong Patronus.

Potter himself looked a bit caught off guard by his, as if it was something he now wasn’t sure quite what to do with. A small frown adorned his face and he almost looked longing for a moment before carrying on.

“Patronuses are almost entirely docile; they exist to protect and to love. Now, stand.”

Everyone, clearly impressed at this point, did not hesitate to obey. Potter sent all the desks to the walls in neat stacks without a word.

“We don’t have any dementors to practice on, fortunately,” Tom blinked. Fortunately? “but that can make things a little harder for some. I think we’ll manage just fine though. Please form a line at the back of the classroom and focus on the happiest memory you have.”

Tom thought hard as he walked back. Happiest memory…

He supposed there was that time when he lured the other children into the cave, or when he convinced a snake to go after Arnold Smitting. He frowned. Neither of those were really outstanding, though.

And, regardless of what Potter said, he fully intended to get this charm right on his first try.

“On the count of three we’ll cast, alright?” Tom blanched. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts… “One. Two. Three!”

“Expecto Patronum!” Twenty voices cried out in unison, though nothing more happened than a few silvery wisps spat out of wands.

Potter nodded as if it was what he expected. “Yes. Not an easy charm. Most Death E-I mean, most dark wizards are never able to master it. It requires too much light. Too much love.” The professor looked directly at Tom as he said this, and rubbed his eyes before hurriedly carrying on. “I’m certain you’ll all get at least some form by the end of the week though. If you all lose interest, we can do something else in a couple days. Now. Happy thoughts. Let’s try again.”

The class carried on like that until the bell rang, with Edward Longbottom making the most progress in sending out what looked like a faint blob that croaked out of existence. Professor Potter did not hide his delight as he hastily awarded Gryffindor another ten points.

Tom scowled, something twisting his stomach as he gathered his books and left the room.

  


Harry did his best not to throw up as he returned the desks and chairs to their normal position, stealing glances at his still-present Patronus at the front of the room.

He had called it before when it was in this form, yes, but still, every time he did he still expected the ever-familiar stag. Some part of him ached for his father’s image, but…

Draco.

He fiercely rubbed his eyes, banishing his rapidly darkening thoughts as he went up to his desk. Edward Longbottom. Neville’s-what, grandfather? Great-grandfather? Great-uncle? Dear god. They looked so alike.

And the kid next to Tom. Spitting image of Lucius, though mercifully different from Draco.

Of course, Tom struggled the most with the Patronus. Harry swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He wasn’t fully prepared to see baby Voldemort staring him down this morning. He had no clue what to do with him, really. How was he supposed to stop Tom from becoming Voldemort? How do you stop someone evil from, well, being evil?

Tom had been clearly frustrated at his lack of a Patronus, and Harry wasn’t quite sure whether it was because of his horrid nature, lack of happy memories or both. He also wasn’t sure whether he should help the boy or not.

Harry sat on the floor and leaned against his Patronus, ignoring the ache in his heart. He’d figure it out eventually. For now, he had another four classes to get through.

He had this period open, though, and he looked over his outlines for the next few classes. He had chosen spells that, as far as he knew, wouldn’t be brought up in the curriculum but still could be useful. Nothing that could truly hurt anyone, though.

He also recalled the awful morning before class; Dippet had pulled him aside after breakfast and informed him that he was going to contact the Ministry later that day and that he’d have to start getting documented on his situation immediately.

Harry had responded that he had less than no trust in the Ministry and he’d rather remain undocumented.

Dippet threatened to remove him from Hogwarts.

Harry had stated that he’d like to see him try.

Then the bell rang.

It wasn’t as if he wanted to antagonize Dippet. He seemed to be an effective headmaster, and probably deserved more respect than Harry offered.

But… The Ministry was a no. A definite no.

Harry felt his dragon nuzzle him and he felt another slight pang in his chest. He looked over his shoulder to inspect it further. He hadn’t bothered to check exactly what kind of dragon it was.

He ran his hands over its spiny back and studied its snout. A Norwegian Ridgeback.

Harry blinked.

Perhaps… he had to pay someone a visit.

 

 


	4. Some Semblance of Happiness

“Harry.”

The raven-haired boy didn’t stir, and Draco scowled, prodding him gently with his finger.

“Harry. Wake up.”

“Mmm,” was all the response he got as his boyfriend rolled over.

“Harry, come on! It’s a Hogsmeade weekend,” Draco whispered. “Here. I’ll buy you a pack of Chocolate Frogs if you get up now.”

“Mmmm.” Harry’s eyes slowly opened, and Draco couldn’t help his grin as green eyes met silver. “Chocolate Frogs?” Harry murmured groggily.

“Yes, Potter, Chocolate Frogs. Now get your sorry arse out of bed before I leave without you.”

Harry snorted as he sat up. “Yeah right. As if you’d go anywhere without me,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. His hand automatically went to his nightstand in search of his glasses, but they weren’t there. Harry immediately turned to Draco. “Where are they?” he deadpanned.

Draco snickered and ran out the door, and Harry angrily jumped up and darted after him.

“Draco!” he whined, “I need those!”

“But they’re so uglyyy,” Draco whined back, not caring as he ran through the Gryffindor common room. Harry still wasn’t quite sure how he always got the passwords, and Draco wasn’t sharing. “You look much better without them. Trust me.”

The blond suddenly stopped and Harry crashed into him.

“Yeah well you look like a giant, thieving fuzz without them,” Harry snapped, finally managing to steal his glasses back.

“A giant, _attractive_ thieving fuzz,” Draco corrected, slipping his hands in Harry’s.

His boyfriend rolled his eyes but smiled.

“A giant, attractive thieving fuzz,” he agreed.

  
  


Professor Potter was the talk of the school. Nobody had the foggiest clue where he had come from, why Dippet had accepted someone so young, exactly how old he was anyways, or where any of his odd mannerisms had come from. He was clearly English, and knew far more than anyone under the age of forty, possibly fifty, should know. He showed kindness to all of the students he’d had so far, and had reprimanded absolutely nobody for bad behavior. Not that anyone dared misbehave, anyways.

Tom quietly wondered how long that would last. Today he had the power of being unexpected; everyone listened as they wanted to gather at least some shred of information on the scrawny teacher. The mystic would fade fast.

Of course, by then Merrythought might have returned.

“What do you think, Tom?” Orion interrupted his thoughts. The third year idolized him, constantly buggering Tom when he wanted it least. He forced back a grimace.

“Think about what?”

“D’ya think Potter went to Beauxbaton?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s clearly English.,” Tom rolled his eyes and walked away without another word. Beauxbaton his arse.

But… where would he have gone, then? Professor Potter, by all reasoning, would’ve been in Hogwarts.

He headed to the library as lunch began, initially planning on researching Horcruxes further. He had made one, he was fairly sure, but diaries weren’t the sturdiest of items. He got sick at the idea he had wasted his one and only split soul piece on something so flimsy.

However, as he wandered among the shelves, he found himself pulling out a book on Patronus charms instead.

It was important to get on the substitute’s good side, Tom reasoned.

  
  


Wednesday found Tom back in Defense Against the Dark Arts, where Potter cheerfully started the class off with open questions.

“What do you think of when you cast your Patronus?” Amy Prewett asked, twirling her hair around her finger and staring up through her lashes. Tom mentally sneered. The young professor’s looks hadn’t gone unnoticed by the school, either.

Potter seemed completely oblivious to the flirtatious undertones though and answered easily. “There’s a lot of things I look back on. When I first started learning to cast them, I thought of the first time I flew on a broom or when I got my letter accepting me at Hogwarts.” The second clause seemed to slip out without his permission and he blinked, quickly backtracking. “I mean, that is, uh… Mainly broom flying, actually. That was it. Yes. So-”

“You went to Hogwarts?” Abraxas demanded, eyebrows arching. “How old are you?”

Potter stiffly ignored him. “Okay. Line up in the back again. I’ll walk down the line. Let me know if you’re having trouble.”

It was too late; the class was in slight uproar, and it was only when Potter sent off Avio with a loud crack did it fall quiet. His eyes portrayed nothing but stony impatience.

“Line up. Now.”

The class immediately obeyed, still muttering as he sent the desks to the walls once more.

“Now, quick refresher,” his demeanor immediately calmed as if the slip-up never happened. “Happy thoughts. Expecto Patronum. Concentrate.”

And, true to his words, he checked up on each student, fixing their wand motion, pronunciation, suggesting happy memories, performing brief demonstrations. Tom sharply inhaled once Potter reached him.

He took the opportunity to examine the man now that he stood so close; his hair was definitely a lost cause, thick and black and shooting up in every possible direction, and his thick-rimmed glasses were borderline ridiculous. He was a good three inches shorter than Tom, and a bit on the scrawny side. A jagged scar cut across his forehead, dipping slightly onto the bridge of his nose, and his eyes uncannily matched that perfect avada kedavra green.

He was cute, in a way, even if he looked slightly scared standing in front of Tom.

Tom frowned, thinking back to the earlier stares. What could this man have against him?

“Okay, Tom,” Potter said, voice not portraying an ounce of the uncertainty written over his face, “let’s see what you have.”

Tom bit back embarrassment as he attempted the spell. Potter seemed rather unsurprised as nothing happened.

“What are you thinking of?” he demanded simply.

“A vacation to a seaside cave,” Tom answered. Potter paled, eyes widening slightly in horror. He coughed. Tom wondered what Potter could possibly find intimidating about a cave. It’s not like he was there.

“I… Um, okay. Not exactly the most… cheerful moment you have, is it?” he questioned. Tom cocked an eyebrow. “I mean, maybe… What about when you learned you were a wizard? That day?”

“How would you know I didn’t always know?” Tom questioned quietly. Potter flushed, red rapidly returning to his cheeks.

“Teachers talk.”

“Dumbledore told you?”

“Doesn’t matter. Is that a happy memory for you?”

Tom thought on it for a moment. “I suppose.”

Potter sighed, running his hand through his hair. Tom studied the scar during the split second it was visible before the fringe fell back over it.

“You can’t suppose, Riddle. It has to be a moment that you, without a doubt, were happy. Is there anything that stands out? Any memory of love, kindness… Anything?”

To Tom’s surprise, he didn’t immediately retort with a flat no.

“I’ll think on it,” he said instead. Potter nodded.

“Do you have any other questions? Your form looks good,” he said lightly.

“What’s your first name?” Where did that come from?

Potter stared blankly. “Harry. You’re the third person to ask so far-why does it matter?”

The professor moved on before Tom could reply.

And, to his frustration, Edward Longbottom’s Patronus had an almost defined shape today. A toad, from the looks of it.

Professor Potter-no, Harry was elated.

Tom scowled.

  
  


Harry stared at the hut before him, shoulders square.

He had no clue what to expect from this visit, but hopefully there would be tea and talking. He wasn’t exactly sure how he’d explain his presence, but…

He need to see him. See the one man who had, without any ulterior motive, saved and guided Harry throughout the years.

Of course, he would still be a boy now, Harry reminded himself. He’d be younger than Harry was now.

He took a deep breath before knocking. Hagrid answered moments later, smaller than Harry remembered but still easily half again the size of any adult.

“Professor!” Hagrid bellowed cheerfully. “Yer the new one, righ’? Steppin’ in for Merrythought. Good o’ ya. Come in, come in.”

Something inside Harry relaxed as he beamed at his future friend.

“Thanks, Hagrid. I… I heard you were the gamekeeper, and seeing as I’ll be here for quite a while, I figured it best I stop by.” There. That was a good enough excuse, right?

“Good o’ ya. I ‘preciate the company. Not many people stop aroun’ much an’ it gets lonely wiv just Aragog,” Hagrid said, leading Harry inside.

The hut looked almost exactly the same as Harry remembered; maybe a little less worn in some places, and none of the paint chipped, but Hagrid never changed much, and neither did his cabin.

“Aragog?” Harry asked, mind spinning back to his encounter with the Acromantula. “Who’s that?”

“Oh, ‘e jus be my Acromantula. Friendly, tho’. Got me expelled, he right did, Tom blamin’ the Chamber o’ Secrets openin’ on me n’ him. ‘e don’t spend much time in my house anymore now tha’ ‘e’s so big, but ‘e visits a lot. Gonna be another couple years afore he starts his own nest,” Hagrid said. “Want some tea?”

Harry accepted the offered cup and eventually lost himself in simple conversation with Hagrid.

It hurt a bit, knowing that the half-giant wouldn’t know of their future, their past, of all he would and did do for Harry, but it was nice, in a way, knowing that he was still quite the same person.

  
  


Tom all but growled as he watched Harry walk into Hagrid’s little hut. He has spent all of his Saturday morning scrounging for information on the man to come up with nothing, spent his lunch trying to cast a Merlin-damned Patronus with somehow even fewer results, and now the professor had decided to spend his time speaking with some filthy half-breed who loathed him.

Harry was a complete mystery, and Tom never liked mysteries.

He even approached Slughorn about the subject, and the potions teacher had laughed heartily, saying he wished he had Harry as a student. He was quite a strong wizard, that one, and would probably be great at potions. Pity he’d ended up a teacher, Slughorn could’ve set him up as an Auror. Ah, well, he’d be fine here. Hogwarts was a fine school.

Yes, Slughorn was as useless as usual. Tom scowled, sitting on the lawn against a tree, watching the house. Not only did Harry lack connections to absolutely anything, but he also seemed to take after Dumbledore in having almost no fondness for Tom. Sure, with Harry, something else was definitely off between them as well, but someone disliking Tom so fast when he’d let nothing slip was just unnatural.

Maybe it was Dumbledore, though. He had seen him and Harry talking together on a handful of occasions, muttering among themselves, Dumbledore’s brow furrowed as if Harry baffled him just as much as he did the rest of the school. Dumbledore was most likely the reason Harry treated him as he did. It was the only explanation.

Which is why Tom needed a Patronus. Get Potter’s attention on him, get Potter associating him with good things.

Tom ran his fingers through the grass. Why did he even care, though? Potter would be gone next week anyways and it’d be back to Merrythought. Potter would disappear back into the nothing he came from. He glanced up at the hut.

Disappear, a mystery unsolved.

Tom wasn’t going to let that happen.

  
  


Harry considered the pros and cons of Impedimenta as he spotted Tom run to catch up with him as he made his way from Hagrid’s hut. He still had no clue what to do with him, terrified that any move to help Riddle would enable him to become a stronger Voldemort rather than prevent one and that any move to impede him would alight his hate and guarantee the Dark Lord down the road.

In the end, he did nothing to prevent Tom from walking by his side, and made an effort to neither speed up nor slow down. Nothing to upset the sixth year Slytherin.

“Professor,” Tom stated formally.

“Riddle,” Harry provided. He still wasn’t always sure how to address his students; he was less than a year older than many of them, Tom included.

“What are you doing out on the grounds?” Tom asked.

“Oh, ah, just going for a walk,” Harry said. “Yourself?”

“Studying. The tree over there’s nice and shady,” he said, nodding his head back to his previous place of rest. Harry glanced back at it, familiarity gnawing a bit at his insides. The tree was smaller than it was during his time. Still large, still ancient, but smaller nonetheless.

“That’s nice,” Harry said. Tom nodded awkwardly next to him.

“I was wondering, Professor, if there’s any other way to cast a Patronus?” he said after a moment. “Without a happy memory?”

Harry paused for a moment, and Tom stopped right with him. It irked him some that Tom towered over him so much. Honestly, Harry was used to being a bit smaller, but it was flat-out stupid that his future nemesis got to have an edge on him even before he became what he was.

“Well, Tom,” Harry said carefully, resuming the walk, “Patronuses are based off of happy memories. They embody something that matters to you and reflects on the light aspects of who you are. You can’t cast happiness without, you know, happiness.”

Tom frowned. “Ah. I feared so. Do Patronuses have any connection to the soul?”

Harry shrugged at the question, carefully schooling his reaction. He didn’t think it would be good for Tom to know that Harry knew about his horcruxes. “I’m not quite sure. A friend of mine liked to think that the soul is where we keep our joy, and I like to think she’s right. So, in that case, I suppose they would be. Why do you ask?”

“Simply curious, Professor. Do you know why your Patronus is a dragon?”

“Yes.” Harry answered curtly.

Tom smirked a little. “Care to elaborate?”

Harry casually shrugged again, glancing over at Tom. He was using his silkier voice, the one Harry had remembered from some of Dumbledore’s memories. The one he used when he was trying to charm people over, whether it be Hepzibah with her trinkets or Slughorn with his Horcruxes.

Harry found it a bit humorous that Tom considered him someone worth charming.

“No, not really,” Harry said simply. Then, taking a risk, he stated, “It used to be a stag.”

Tom blinked. “Oh, interesting. You said before that Patronuses can change after life events?”

“Yes,” Harry answered, mind drifting back to Draco. This man would one day kill Draco, Harry realized quietly. He would kill his love. “I had a lot of these… ‘life events.’ The one that finally changed it was when I fell in love.”

Tom looked mildly uncomfortable for a second before his face shifted back to its normal small smiles and handsome calmness. Harry was too lost in thought to notice.

“Are you married, Professor?”

Harry blinked as they reached the castle. “No. Never got the chance.”

And with that, he left a muddled Tom to go review his lesson plans once more.

  
  


Tom was ready to tear his hair out in frustration by next Monday. He still had yet to find anything on the blasted professor and he would be gone in two days and Merlin be damned Tom needed to know his story!

He was even tempted to ask Dumbledore about it. Yes, Tom would swallow his fear and wheedle information out of the Transfiguration Professor if it could give him any sort of hint to Harry’s story.

However, he had Defense first, and one of his last chances to gather some information on Harry.

“So, I was going to give you guys an option today,” Harry stated as he adjusted his glasses. Those stupid glasses, Tom seethed. Just as ridiculous and weird as the rest of the man. “Either we can keep trying Patronus Charms or we can try a couple more… fun, sort of jinxes.” Tom mentally raged against the mischievous expression on Harry’s face. “Class vote. Raise your hand for Patronus Charms now.”

Longbottom and Tom were originally the only two to raise their hands, but Abraxas, Walburga and Quinn Crabbe quickly joined in to follow Tom. Harry examined the latter three, clearly unimpressed.

“Alright, so the rest of you want to learn jinxes?” he clarified. Murmurs of agreement quickly spread. “Okay. Let me just clarify-you are not to use these with the intent to harm. Any magic can be twisted to harm, and while I show you these just for some fun before your regular teacher performs, I will not hesitate to punish anyone I catch misusing these.” Again, Harry looked at Tom as he finished this. Tom mentally shouted. What did he ever do to him?

“So. I’m going to need a volunteer,” Harry said, face the mask of innocence. The entire class raised their hands and Harry barked out a laugh. “You realize you’re going to be jinxed, correct?” he asked. A couple hands dropped, still leaving the majority. Tom didn’t volunteer, but scowled nonetheless as someone other than him was chosen. Lea Finnigan.

“This is the Laughing Jinx,” Harry said, straightening. He looked at Lea. “Are you ready? For the purpose of the demonstration you can’t shield yourself. I won’t let it last long, alright?”

Lea nodded, a seductive smile touching her features.

Tom felt something tick in annoyance. Oh, Harry was already in love, he wanted to shout. Don’t bother. Besides, it’s not as if you’re worth it-

“Rictumsempra!” Harry stated, wand flicking sharply. Lea immediately dissolved into a fit of raucous laughter, doubled over and clutching her sides, barely able to breathe. The class quickly followed suit, torn apart by giggles and smiles. “Finite Incantatem,” Harry murmured, and Lea slowed down for a moment, still laughing on her own will. The professor smiled. Tom wanted to wretch.

“That’s the basics of it. Lea, you can go sit down again. Pair up and practice for the next fifteen minutes. Then we’ll move on.”

  
  


Harry watched as everyone paired up. Tom went with the Malfoy, and the Riddle immediately jinxed his partner, cocking an eyebrow as his friend howled with laughter. Harry waited for Tom to end the jinx and let it be cast upon himself, but, as three minutes passed, that didn’t seem to be the case.

Tom was also staring at him, Harry, quite a bit too, he noted.

And so Harry went through with the only possible solution to this. The second Tom looked away Harry jinxed him, ended the spell on his friend and slipped away.

Tom broke out in fits of giggles behind him, slowly growing in volume as Harry mentally increased the strength until Tom was outright guffawing. He couldn’t help the smile that slipped onto his face.

Tom laughing sounded nothing like Voldemort laughing.

Still off, in a way. The teen was creepy.

But he was still fully alive this time, at the very least.


	5. Some Respect, if You'd Please

Their first date was awkward.

Harry hadn’t expected it to be; they’d been essentially together for months by then, connected by the hip during all their classes and meals.

He didn’t truly realize they weren’t technically together until Draco had asked him to go to Hogsmeade with him.

“I… Yeah, that’s what I was planning on,” Harry had said uncertainly.

Draco had rolled his eyes. “No, Potter. Not like that. Like on a date.”

Harry frowned further, cheeks warming. “I thought we were already dating?”

“Are we?”

“I’d like to be.”

“So is that a yes?”

“What else would it be?”

They stayed away from Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, deeming that far too sappy and not at all like them, despite their already stereotypically switched house scarves and intertwined hands.

Instead they found themselves in the Three Broomsticks, awkwardly sitting across from each other at a table for two, unsure of where to start talking, both of their faces burning.

They wandered around a few other stores, conversation finally picking up over the brooms in Spintwitches, but Harry couldn’t say he was truly satisfied with it until the sun started to set and he found Draco kissing him silly in the back of Tomes and Scrolls.

  
  


Harry’s chambers were small and simple. Not very homey, not very personal, considering all he had was his wand and the mangled lump of sand, glass and gold that had previously been a Time-Turner. He had his own bathroom, a nearly empty wardrobe, a crimson twin bed and a couch that had definitely seen better days. The walls were beige, the floor was beige, the ceiling was beige, the closet was beige.

He didn’t like spending time in there. It just reminded him that he had truly lost everything.

Harry wasn’t one for materialism, but there  was no denying that he would give anything to get his Firebolt back. Or his Snitch, or a sweater from the Weasleys, or even his Merlin-forsaken Chocolate Frog Card collection.

Every night, after wandering the corridors aimlessly for hours, alone save for the occasional presence of Mr. Pringle, the caretaker, or Peeves, he did drag himself back to the chambers down the hall from the Room of Requirement and fell asleep. And then, every morning, he’d wake up, soaked in sweat from the nightmares, and go wash up, telling himself that he’d go get some paint and some clothes and some posters and just something and fix up the empty rooms.

He never did. Not that he had much time to-he’d been teaching almost all week and his weekend was spent in another horrid argument with Dippet.

“So,” the headmaster had started, catching Harry during lunch, “I believe we have much to discuss.”

Harry hadn’t responded.

“About returning you to your own time,” Dippet clarified, watching for a reaction.

Harry stared. Had this man somehow missed the whole Voldemort-wins-a-war-and-everyone-fucking-dies speech they dragged out of Harry that night?

“I can’t say I follow,” Harry stated carefully.

“Well, you see,” Dippet started, “as noble as it is that you want to stop this… Voldemort, it’s generally agreed that Time needs to run its course. Normally wizards can’t survive being turned back any more than a few hours, and you… You going all the way back 54 years, that’s not good. That’s not natural. You could create a paradox.”

Somewhere, Time would’ve highly appreciated this man’s words but snidely commented that it was a bit late for the whole paradox-prevention deal. However, Time was too busy arguing with Fate and Life about how to weave the universe back together to have heard. The general agreement among all the powers so far was that Harry would stay where he was though, and they’d find something to do with whatever new patterns he wove.

Not that Harry or Dippet knew that.

Harry, nonetheless, stiffly answered the headmaster. “You know what’s not natural?” he demanded. “Someone chopping their soul into seven pieces and leading legions of men who torture for fun. I’m not going back. Even if I could.”

Dippet had scowled, ready to retort, but some Hufflepuff had set off a firework of some sorts, attracting the attention of Peeves, and the headmaster was drawn from the table as lunch slipped into chaos.

Harry had been assigned to clean up the resulting mess, no doubt, in punishment.

And so Harry’s rooms were still excessively dull, despite the small some of Galleons he’d been paid for subbing. Which brought him to his next issue.

He. Was. Broke.

After Merrythought returned, Harry would have no source of income. Which was, in a way, not too bad as he already had food and shelter taken care of, but he’d no doubt be removed from Hogwarts eventually and it wasn’t exactly easy for one to get a job when one wasn’t supposed to exist.

Harry stared at the Galleons in his hand, inspecting them carefully.

Dippet might hire him to do something else, if he played his cards right, Harry reasoned. But then he remembered he didn’t have any cards to play.

He was sitting on his bed as he did so, the slightly-lighter-beige clock on the wall informing him it was well past two in the morning as he just returned from his nightly stroll. Maybe I can handle beige a little longer, Harry figured as he dropped his few coins into his slightly-darker-beige nightstand.

He fell asleep moments later, and screamed moments after that.

Some part of him wondered if he would ever be able to dream again, or if his mind was forever trapped inside his nightmares.

  
  


Tom was in a near-panic on Wednesday. Oh sure, he hid it, smooth and smiling as always, but inside he felt light-headed and empty. He had one more day with Potter.

He knew he was being a little ridiculous about the whole thing. Harry was just a man, not worth much fuss. He didn’t have a whole lot of interest in Tom, other than the occasional odd looks shot his way, and he wouldn’t be able to interfere with any of Tom’s plans. Harry Potter was just a substitute teacher.

A teacher with no past.

A teacher who had, out of nowhere, jinxed him into laughing two days prior, and, mirth dancing in his eyes, called him up to the front of the class to demonstrate Tarantellegra. It was humiliating, degrading and completely out of the Professor’s place.

And Tom didn’t hate him for it.

Tom wanted to pace, to shout, to tear his bloody perfect hair out, but he didn’t. He would school his features, stride into the classroom, and go through the lesson as usual. And, if this bloody mystery hadn’t solved itself by the end of class, he would find Potter later and get some answers.

With force, if needed.

Tom absently wondered how well Harry did with pain. He glanced at the young professor before mentally shaking his head at the idea of Harry screaming before him. Maybe not that kind of force, then. Something a little more… subtle. But, no, that wouldn’t work either. Potter was clueless.

Tom didn’t even notice himself frown as he took his regular seat next to Abraxas. He might have to miss class to corner the Professor… Harry’s next period was open, he knew, and might be the right time to talk.

Butterflies fluttered in his chest. Yes, he’d be alone with Harry. That would be good. Good, indeed.

He wondered who Harry had “fallen in love” with before. Tom didn’t like that thought. Harry was strong, that much was clear, and love wasn’t strong. Love was weak. Often, love was imaginary.

Admittedly, it must have been something if it changed Harry’s Patronus.

Or maybe something else had affected it, and Harry was mistaken. Yes, Tom figured, that was far more reasonable.

“Tom? Did you hear me?”

Tom snapped to attention and stared at his professor, who had a bit of a lopsided smirk on his face.

“Sorry sir, no,” Tom said easily. He ignored the muffled chuckles from the Gryffindors.

“We were discussing animagi. How do you make an animagus show their human form?”

“Homorphus, sir.”

Harry nodded. “Indeed. Five points to Slytherin. The spell also works for werewolves, or any other human-based creature in their non-human form.”

Harry paced as he talked, Tom noted, studying his professor once more. His eyes were constantly sweeping over the room, taking stock of every student, every movement. His voice was strong, as if he was used to speaking in front of large crowds. Used to giving speeches. Used to people listening.

Harry’s eyes lingered on Tom for a while moment, and he couldn’t help but stare back. Why did he always do that?

Something about Tom set Harry on edge, he could tell, but it wasn’t favorably, like with Slughorn, and not always fear, like with the first years. At times like this it almost felt like concern. Concern, worry and… pity?

Harry carried on with his lecture until fifteen minutes til the bell, where he stated that Merrythought would be back in time for their next lesson with the actual curriculum, and he was glad he had the opportunity to teach them for the past week.

“Where will you be going?” Amy asked sweetly.

Harry blinked.

“Uh, I’ll actually be staying here at Hogwarts,” he said simply.

Tom froze.

“Doing what?” he demanded, not bothering to raise his hand. His lack of control shocked him for a second, but it was too late to

Harry looked at him sharply, eyes hardening. “Taking care of personal business,” he answered. “Why?”

Defensive. Definitely up to something.

“Oh. Nobody mentioned it before,” Tom said, voice immediately softening. “I’m glad to hear you’ll be around a little longer.”

Harry rolled his eyes-rolled his eyes-and stated that they could go about doing whatever they pleased for the next fifteen minutes as long as it wasn’t loud enough to catch any other teacher’s attention.

Tom strode to the front of the room where Harry was sitting at the desk before Abraxas could speak to him.

“Professor Potter,” he said coolly. Harry looked up at him, an unrecognizable expression on his face. Tom had to admit, he was attractive. “If you don’t mind me asking, how exactly did you end up at Hogwarts?”

  
  


At some point in the past few days, Harry had considered the possibility that he answer everything truthfully, without giving the information people really wanted. It was, after all, what almost everyone had done to him, consciously or not. Merlin knew that was how Dumbledore spun him around his finger so quickly.

He was pretty sure he’d already completely ruined the flow of time anyways, really considering the situation, and honestly, what was there to lose? The world couldn’t possibly end up any worse than it was at the end of his time in the present, so…

It could be worse and you know it, his mind had whispered, sounding suspiciously like Hermione. Evil overlords can’t last forever. The universe ending… That’s a different story.

Harry had sighed and dropped the thought, not quite making up his mind on how he would explain his situation to anyone besides simply telling them to sod off.

But as Riddle stared down at him, bearing an intensity that no sixteen year-old should have managed, Harry couldn’t resist. Some part of the man before him was his most hated enemy, and some part of the man before him was just another sixth-year student at Hogwarts, no better than Harry was at that age. He didn’t know how to treat him, how to fix the future, what any action of his was going to do, but he did see one thing quite clearly. He had an opportunity here.

And he seized it.

“Well, I received a letter when I was eleven,” Harry said, forcing his face to stay straight. “It informed me that I was to start my education at Hogwarts and so a few weeks later I boarded the train at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Correct me if I’m mistaken, but I’m pretty sure that’s generally how people get to be here.”

The expression on Tom’s face was priceless. Harry knew he should probably be a bit above this now, being a teacher and a time traveler and all, but damn that comment was worth it.

Tom seemed to gain control back rather quickly, leaning in slightly. Harry refused to lean back. He was not losing the upper hand here.

“So are you eleven then, Professor? You’re young, but not that young.”

Harry snorted. “Of course not. That was years ago. People tend to age, Tom.”

He looked down at his desk, pretending to read over some papers and ignore Tom.

“Really? Because there’s no records of you at Hogwarts.”

Well, he was persistent, and definitely determined to get information.

“Hm. Not surprised about that, really,” Harry said.

“Why?”

Tom’s voice almost broke at that, Harry noticed, almost slipped into something rather harsher than the smooth velvet he usually purred.

“Why not?”

The corners of Harry’s mouth started to quirk. He pretended to cough into his hand. Tom looked livid.

“Who are you parents?” Tom managed to not miss a single beat.

“My mom and dad?”

“Their names?”

“Ah. Lily and James.” Harry absently wondered if that was too much. Voldemort killed them, after all.

But he would’ve known who they were whether or not Harry told him now.

Would Harry even be born at this point? How much did his actions really change things?

Tom, of course, didn’t know about this internal dispute, and resumed his questioning.

“I haven’t seen a single word about anyone with either of those names.” The younger teenager was definitely straining to keep himself together.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to. Honestly, Tom, are you alright? It sounds like you’ve been trying to stalk me.”

Harry would’ve killed for a picture of Tom’s face at that moment.

The bell rang, though, and Harry rolled his chair back without looking up. He was certain Tom would take his chance to escape with his pride while he could.

He was wrong. The teen continued standing at his desk.

“Can I help you with something?” Harry asked. Weird.

“Yes.” Tom’s voice turned silky once more. “You can, actually. You can explain who you are and why there are no records whatsoever of your existence.”

“That all sounds rather personal, Tom. Perhaps another time,” Harry stated, trying to imitate the voice Dumbledore had used on him so many times before. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some research to do. Go to class, Tom.”

He strode out of the room, not looking back at the young Voldemort. He barely managed to reach his rooms before collapsing in fits of laughter.

  
  


Tom wanted revenge, simply put.

He didn’t want to harm, Harry per se, just…

Fluster him. Pull him out of his element and watch him flail and sputter. Disorient him. Confuse him. And, perhaps, get some straight answers.

And that was when Tom finally found a use for Horace Slughorn.

It was Wednesday evening, an hour before dinner. Tom’s schedule was open, and apparently so was Harry’s. The raven-haired man was poring over a book in the library.

“Ah, Professor!”

Harry appeared to not have heard. Tom wasn’t quite sure whether he was ignoring him or if he just wasn’t used to the title.

“Professor Potter!”

Harry looked up, eyebrows arching as he briefly inspected Tom.

“Yes?”

“I have a request,” Tom said, approaching carefully. He sat across the table from the man, leaning in close. Harry stared.

“I certainly hope it’s nothing too personal this time,” Harry said flippantly before looking back down at his book.

“I presume you are familiar with Professor Slughorn?” Harry made a face but nodded. Tom smirked. “Well, as you may know, he hosts dinners with some of his favorite students every now and then and occasionally encourages us to bring along a friend. I asked him today if I could invite you, and he saw no problem with it.”

Harry’s eyes were trained on the book, but red started to seep into his cheeks. “Kind of him.”

“So, I’m here to extend the invitation. Will you accompany me to Professor Slughorn’s dinner tonight?”

Harry still refused to look up. “Well, that’s quite nice of you, but you said he encouraged you to bring along a friend.”

“Would you not like to be friends?” Tom asked, the slight hurt in his tone not entirely an act.

Harry fell silent and closed his book.

Tom waited.

“I don’t know if that’s really appropriate for a teacher and student,” Harry said after a moment. “I am more than happy to form a positive relationship with you, and to guide and listen to you, and act as a friend in a certain sense of the word, but being friends before you graduate would not work. We are not equal in levels of authority.”

For all his careful wording, Tom wasn’t quite sure that Harry knew what he meant. Either way, this was an easy argument.

“Harry,” he stated bluntly, “you’re losing your professor status tomorrow.”

More silence. Tom wasn’t sure how Harry was going to react to his proposal, but this wasn’t quite it. The use of the man’s first name didn’t even seem to irk him.

“You’ve no other friends to go with?” Harry asked after a moment.

“I’d rather take you.”

Pause.

“You want to be friends with me?”

Something was off in the way he said that. Very, very off.

“Yes.”

Tom noticed Harry’s even breaths had quickly sped up, the tiny sounds of his inhales and exhales filling up the space between them.

“I’ll go. It’s tonight?”

“Yes. During dinner.”

Harry nodded once before abruptly standing up and walking out. Tom wasn’t quite sure whether he’d won or not.

  
  


Harry knew it was an act. A ploy. Tom Riddle didn’t have friends, he had followers. He just wanted to know Harry’s story and was willing to say whatever it took to get there.

But maybe… Maybe if Tom knew friendship, he wouldn’t become Voldemort. And maybe Harry would be that friend.

Or maybe Tom would manipulate Harry, just as everyone else had tried to, and Harry was just enabling him to become stronger and darker.

Harry grabbed the disgusting beige lamp on his nightstand and flung it across the room in frustration, sighing in satisfaction as it shattered. He didn’t know what to do. He never knew what to do. There was no Hermione whispering the answers in his ear, no Ron charging into the fight headfirst, no Dumbledore providing hopelessly cryptic tasks, no Snape demonstrating technique and making him practice, no Draco crowding him against the wall, telling him, no, demanding that-

The remains of his Time-Turner quickly joined the broken lamp on the floor.

He was alone.

He was alone and he just didn’t know what to do.

Tom Riddle said he wanted to be his friend.

He had already killed someone. A girl. An innocent girl. Myrtle.

He already split his soul once.

Tom Riddle, the man who would grow to kill his parents, torture his friends, ruin his life-

If Harry’s room wasn’t so empty the broken item count would’ve been much, much higher by the time he left for the god-forsaken dinner.

  
  


Harry was pretty in his borrowed dress robes. Tom hadn’t meant to think that. He swallowed.

They met in the corridor just outside Slughorn’s office and Tom took a deep breath before they walked in, taming his voice and actions before they came out.

“Professor Slughorn, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Professor Slughorn.” He knew it wasn’t appropriate to use Harry’s first name, but perhaps this would muddle him some. Besides, Tom reminded himself, they were being friends.

“Ah yes, thank you Tom, but we’ve already been introduced,” the Potions Master said happily. “Quite honored at the opportunity to get to know you better, Mr. Potter. You must be quite the wizard to have been teaching already.”

Harry supplied a humble smile and shrug. “I’m just a substitute, sir. Professor Dippet couldn’t find someone at such short notice, and, well, I was there.”

 _Where?_ Tom wanted to ask, but bit the question back as Slughorn jollily nodded.

“Modest indeed. I’ve heard you’ll be spending the rest of your year at Hogwarts, however?”

“Yes sir. Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Slughorn smiled, slapping Harry’s. shoulder fondly before seeking out some other unsuspecting victim. Tom smirked a bit as they were left to be, alone in the small crowd together.

He directed Harry to the punch bowls, serving his companion a cup of punch he knew was spiked. Avery always went for the one at the end of the table.

Not that Harry would know that.

“So, how old _are_ you?” Tom asked, reaching for a cookie to nibble on.

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Why do you want to know?”

“Well, I assumed that friends generally knew each others’ ages,” Tom said smoothly. Harry couldn’t seem to find a good argument for that.

“Seventeen, maybe eighteen,” he said after a moment.

Tom blinked. “Maybe eighteen?”

“Yes. I’m not quite sure if my birthday has technically passed again yet or not.”

Tom had a feeling he wouldn’t get much more information on the subject than that.

“Not too much older than me, then. Sixteen. You just finished your education at Hogwarts last year?”

Harry snorted. He hadn’t touched his punch. “Don’t tell Dippet, but I finished the year before. Dropped out before seventh year started. Had more important matters to take care of.”

“How’d you get the teaching position, then?” Tom asked. This wasn’t necessarily going badly, he figured, but definitely not going well.

“He didn’t have a whole lot of choice.” Tom blinked. “What, oh no. No. I didn’t force him,” Harry backpedaled, “he just didn’t really have any other options and I was there and knowledgeable enough of the subject, so…”

“Knowledgeable indeed. You have quite the Patronus. Say, you never did tell me exactly why it had changed into a dragon,” Tom said sweetly.

“Yes I did,” Harry frowned. “I told you. I fell in love.”

Tom suppressed a frown at that. Something about that bothered him, something beyond the idea that Harry thought that such a weak emotion could cause a profound change in anything. He’d play along, though.

“With whom?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t suppose it would matter to you. They’re dead now.”

If Tom was a good person, he would’ve felt sorry for him. But, Tom wasn’t a good person, and instead he felt his chest lighten with hope. “Ah. My condolences.” He mentally beat himself. That didn’t sound sympathetic at all. “I hope you’re moving on alright?”

Wrong thing to say. Harry gaped at him, green eyes wide.

“I- _wha_ t? No!”

“Pity. You’re too pretty to stay alone too long.”

Okay. Tom had no clue where that came from, but seeing as he already dug his grave with the first comment, might as well make it a bit deeper. It wasn’t exactly a lie, anyways.

Besides, Harry was definitely out of his depth here.

“Tom-”

And Tom decided he wanted to pull him out further.

“Hm?”

“I-did- _did no one teach you manners?_ ” Harry demanded.

“Oh, they did. Doesn’t mean I always have to use them.” Tom offered his companion a smile, leaning in slightly closer.

Harry tried to step away, but ended up just backing into the table and upturning a plate of biscuits. The sudden clang sent the teen sprawling forward, and Tom was more than happy to catch him and briefly hug him against his body.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement.

Harry shoved him off, avada kedavra eyes screaming murder before the short boy stormed out.

Nobody seemed to notice.

Well, Tom thought, _that_ was a definite win _._

  
  


Harry went to bed early that night, mind reeling. It was no surprise he woke up screaming for Draco.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I just wanted to leave a couple notes here, because chapter 4 is the best place to introduce yourself to your readers. First of all, thank you, all of you who commented. I posted this both on ffnet and here and honestly I wasn't expecting anyone to actually notice my story here. It means a lot.  
> I've got all the way through Chapter 7 written right now, so I'll be posting every few days so I don't fall behind and end up leaving all of you hanging, by the way. I have two good friends reading over my work before it's posted. Neither of them, sadly, have accounts on here so I can't give them the exact acknowledgement they deserve, but they do exist and they are both lovely.  
> Next order of business-Tom. I wanted to just briefly explain my characterization of him even though I hope my writing's good enough that it's understood anyways, but, well, here you go-  
> Tom is a teenager in this story. As a result, he is very flawed, very driven, and very hormonal. He hasn't completely mastered charming other people and despite splitting his soul once already, he can be shaken by certain things and possesses a wide range of emotions, unlike Voldemort. He's got a lot of learning to do before he lords over his slaves and this is basically the only reason he's got any shot at love and/or redemption.  
> Harry, on the other hand, is just completely lost and confused and isn't quite sure his life has a purpose anymore. Tom flirting with him just sets him on edge because he's still in love with Draco and can't forgive himself for what happened to him. He doesn't even seem to notice any actual interest Tom has in him. Harry's just a mess.  
> Anyways, I'm also trying to include characters that I know were there during the time period in the story and keep their ages and whatnot as accurate as possible, but seriously, there is so much in the Harry Potter world I'm bound to miss something or someone. I'm sorry if this happens but I promise you I'm doing my best.  
> I also feel like I'm pushing this story along fast. Tom and Harry's random ideas and lashing out against whatever it is that's concerning them is what pushes this plot along, really, so while I'm doing my best to keep them in character and keep their actions probable, feel free to let me know if they're doing something that just doesn't fit at all.  
> Last thing is italics. I italicize so much shit while writing it's ridiculous. Sadly, that doesn't usually carry over when I put it on AO3. I try and fix it up as much as I can, but, well, something's probably missed. Whatever. I try.  
> Thank you once again for taking the time to read my story. Your support means far more to me than I thought it would-I've been working on this story for a while and it was just at one of my friend's suggestions that I posted it and honestly I couldn't be happier. You're all lovely.


	6. Run

Their first kiss was in the Room of Requirement.

Harry had been bothered about something, Draco could tell. His brow was slightly furrowed and lips pursed, hands twitching at his sides.

“Something wrong, Potter?” Draco drawled, lounging on a dark grey futon. Harry shot him a glare as he paced but didn’t say anything. Draco sighed and dragged himself up to his feet and strode over to his companion. “Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“That pacing. It’s driving me insane.” His voice betrayed nothing, remaining snide and slightly slurred.

“Yes, well, you’re driving me insane,” Harry snapped back, but stopped nonetheless.

“Am I?” Draco arched an eyebrow. “Do elaborate.” He stepped closer to the shorter boy, ignoring any personal space boundaries Harry may or may not have had.

“With-with _this_ ,” Harry said, gesturing towards nothing in particular.

“I beg your pardon?”

Harry’s face darkened and he looked up at Draco, their noses almost touching.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know.” Something in Harry’s voice was a bit desperate as his hot breath rolled over Draco. He smelled like pumpkins, the blond noted. Pumpkins and spice.

“Oh,” Draco muttered. “You can’t possibly mean _this_?”

And he closed the distance.

  
  
  


Tom was, to put simply, thoroughly pleased at his newfound advantage over Harry. He didn’t get the chance to immediately exploit it further, as he had his classes all day and Harry was a rare sight. The boy never ate in the Great Hall, never visited classes, never wandered the corridors. If Tom hadn’t spotted him leaving the library the night before he would’ve thought that Harry had lied and had left Hogwarts.

It wasn’t until two Saturdays after Harry stopped teaching that Tom visited what was _supposed_ to be the empty Quidditch field that he had the chance to observe him once more.

Tom had just gone to the field to study, having found that the benches were a good place for focus do to the lack of any interesting scenery and people.

Except for Harry, apparently.

The teen was on one of the school’s newer brooms, lazily circling the field with an uncanny sort of grace. Tom shouldn’t have been surprised that he was such a good flier, in hindsight. He had that air about him. An athlete.

And Tom had enough experience with the Slytherin Quidditch team to know that there weren’t a whole lot of good ways to pull them out of their element. Tom hummed to himself for a minute before disappearing into the shed near the entrance to the field, returning moments later with a shaking box.

Tom sneered at it as it clicked open, examining its contents in disgust before carefully unwrapping the small, golden ball. _Merlin this game is violent_ , Tom thought, hastily snapping the box shut back over the Bludgers. He examined the Snitch for a minute before gently flicking it, and it sprouted wings and took to the air.

Tom went to sit at his regular bench with confidence, settling his gaze on Harry, who still hadn’t noticed anything amiss.

Less than a minute passed before Tom saw it. Even as far away as he was, the shift in Harry’s stature was evident. He had seen the Snitch.

It was a strangely beautiful sight, Tom noted, Harry chasing after the little golden ball, not a thought to spare for anything else. Tom could imagine his face-green eyes bright, hair blown back, teeth gritted, glasses-

“Tom.” Harry stood before him, face flushed, broom in one hand and Snitch in the other.

Oh. Well, that wasn’t according to plan. Tom was supposed to approach him first.

No matter.

“Harry,” Tom greeted, bowing his head politely. “You must forgive me. I simply wanted to see if you were as much of the athlete as you appeared.”

Damn, Harry’s face was red. The boy’s mouth dropped slightly, clearly unsure of what to say. “I… Oh. Um, yeah. I was Gryffindor’s Seeker.”

Ah, Gryffindor. Made perfect sense. “It appears as if you were rather good at it, too,” Tom complimented. He offered a smile. “You practice often?”

“I wouldn’t count it as practice seeing as I’ve got nothing to practice _for_ ,” Harry muttered. “Not much else to do. This helps take my mind off things.”

“What sort of things?” Tom stepped closer, appreciating not for the first time how much shorter Harry was.

Harry hadn’t noticed. “Nothing that you ought to worry about, really,” Harry said flippantly. “Now I really need to g-”

“I think if it worries you, it should worry me. We’re going to be friends, remember?” Harry’s eyes widened. “I’m rather sure friends confide in each other.”

Harry was speechless for a solid minute.

“Tom, I’d really rather not talk about it right now. I’m certain you can respect that?” Was that… anger in his voice? Touchy.

“Oh, I can.” Tom bowed his head, leaning in so his face was merely an inch from Harry’s. “But you will tell me. Eventually.”

Harry’s breathing picked up. He smelled like pumpkins, Tom noted. Pumpkins and spice.

“Tom?”

“Yes?”

“Back up, would you? Kinda crowding me here.”

Tom stepped back with a small hum. “As you wish. Is this where you hide away all day?”

Harry didn’t appear to process the question for a moment, grip tightening on his Snitch and broom. “Not always,” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go talk to Headmaster Dippet.”

He turned tail and sprinted away without a second glance.

  
  


Harry didn’t actually have to meet with Dippet. The Headmaster had given up on him for the time being, not demanding any Ministry paperwork or returns to the future, which Harry appreciated. He had a feeling it wouldn’t last long, though, and had taken to hiding whenever the man came into sight.

He wished he had his Marauder’s Map with him. He’d be able to avoid Dippet and Tom altogether, or at the very least not be caught entirely off guard when one approached.

Harry glanced at his watch. Lunch would be starting in the Great Hall soon, and he’d be free to wander the castle with even fewer distractions. He wasn’t sure when exactly he’d stopped eating, but it wasn’t too long after he showed up at Hogwarts. Food didn’t seem to matter much anymore.

He’d also picked up the rather impressive skill of not thinking about his past. Or, at the very least, not about the people who died. It was something he had started learning to do after Cedric’s death-every time the Hufflepuff Champion’s kind eyes came to mind Harry’d immediately immerse himself in something else. Broom care, Potions essays, Sirius’s letters. And after Sirius died, Harry had entered his animagus form for a week and just didn’t feel. Whatever connection his godfather had with animagi forms be damned, it was easier to stash away his emotions as an animal and ignore the world.

It was something Harry had been doing quite a bit since he stopped teaching as well. He’d explore the grounds and the forest as a jackal or read about time-travel theories in the library, usually.

Speaking of the latter, he still had no idea how he’d survived his trip to the past. Everything he read said he should be dead at the _best_. Nobody had traveled more than five days into the past and survived, and, to make everything odder, their other self who _hadn’t_ time-traveled yet was killed and they still lived.

With that Harry couldn’t even have the comfort that he wasn’t somehow preventing his eventual birth. Or, well, perhaps it was more comforting because then he was guaranteed existence? Was it even the same situation?

It was usually enough to think about to get his mind off of… everything else.

But now was not usually, and his encounter with Tom had dragged up memories of Draco and Harry felt as if the world was shutting down around him. He thought he could see him still, lying cold and dead on the ground-

Harry morphed into a jackal and ran.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully it was clear enough that Harry was an animagus and his form was a jackal. If not, well, here you go- Harry's an animagus and his form is a jackal.  
> Anyways, I think I got everything italicized correctly here. Sorry if I missed anything and for how short this one is. The chapters all have pretty varied lengths.


	7. Drunk

Ron didn’t like Draco, but he’d make pleasant with the boy if Harry was there.

Hermione didn’t really like him either, but she was willing to work with him if only because he was a prefect and Harry insisted.

Draco, on the other hand, made it very clear that he hated both of them and generally avoided the couple unless Harry was with them and he had no other choice. “They’re your friends, not mine,” was his excuse whenever Harry brought up his blatant prejudice.

“Yeah, but if you want to be a part of this, you’ll have to befriend a lot more than just them,” Harry had argued one day, after witnessing the blond deliberately take a long way to class just to avoid the couple in the hallway. “I’ve got more than just you to worry about. You know that, right?”

Draco had scowled fiercely at that and didn’t talk to Harry for almost a week afterwards, but the Slytherin still never strayed far from his side. Harry accepted the treatment without complaint, ignoring Ron’s jibes about tossing Draco back to deal with his own if he couldn’t learn to suck it up, play nice like the rest of them and be bloody grateful for “Harry’s stupidly forgiving mercy” while he was at it.

Besides, Harry hadn’t said yes because he wanted thanks; he said yes because it was the right thing to do.

  
  
  


“What is _wrong_ with you?” Abraxas demanded in a rare bout of anger.

Tom glanced up at him, eyebrows arched. “I beg your pardon?” he said, words dripping with poisoned honey.

Abraxas’s normal fear returned for a split second before giving way to resolve. He spoke with strong articulation and thought, not stammering once. “Every day since we’ve returned to school you have been closed off, barely talking to me, to Walburga, Orion, anyone. You are not present in the common room at night, or at study sessions over the weekends, or even in the bloody library’s restricted section! I have been trying to understand what exactly it is you’ve got your mind set on now, trying to figure out what exactly it is you’ve been doing behind our backs, but… Nothing. Nothing. All that possibly comes to mind is that blasted new ex-professor that everyone’s mooning after nowadays.”

Tom’s gaze didn’t waver. “That’s rather Gryffindor of you, saying all that,” he stated quietly.

Abraxus glared. “At least I’ve got the Slytherin loyalty down, unlike someone around here. I watch out for my own.”

“And what, pray tell, has been going on in Slytherin that needs my watching?”

“Maybe you’d know if you’d think about something other than precious Potter for a blasted minute.”

Tom studied his peer in silence until Abraxas stood up and marched away, fuming. His message wasn’t lost on Tom, however.

He really hadn’t been paying any mind to much other than Harry. Heck, he had plans for this year-learn more about his more recent ancestry, see if he could create another Horcrux, further his plans for taking over as Voldemort. He had things to do. People to see.

But, he reasoned, Harry was powerful. That much was evident. Even outside of his Patronus, it was clear Harry knew his magic and knew it well. He also didn’t have any documentation, which could be useful-he could learn from him how to cover all that up, and besides, there were some clear advantages to having a right-hand who no one knew existed. He liked the image; Harry at his side, second-in-command.

Yes. Harry would be useful to the plan.

  
  


Dumbledore hadn’t spoken to Harry much since the year started besides in passing conversation and occasionally dinner. The boy was constantly distant and tired, rarely able to be found. He doubtless knew as many of the corridors, rooms and extra passages as any single wizard could know after seven years at the school, so it wasn’t really any shock that the boy disappeared so often.

No, if anything, it was more of a shock that the boy was currently sitting in his classroom at four in the morning, curled around a desk, bloodshot green eyes staring up at him.

“Harry,” Dumbledore stated, unsure of what else to say.

“You’re alive here,” Harry mumbled.

Dumbledore’s heart sank. It wasn’t so much the knowledge of his imminent death that was going to be a problem here, but, if that’s how this conversation was going to start-

“You d-died- _hic_ -in the future. In my time. During the war.”

It wasn’t very surprising the boy was drunk. Dumbledore took a seat across from him.

“And then Draco- _hic_ \- died too. He was supposed- _hic_ \- to kill you but he-he went to me instead and-and- _hic_ -” Harry buried his face in his arms.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said gently, “I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”

Harry slammed his fist against the table. “No it’s not,” he whined. “You always-hic- you always just knew what to do and-and you’re not him though. You don’t know me here. Nobody knows me-hic- here and all that time you went on and on about how it was my friends and my love and-hic-all that light magic and the faith and inspiration and good and-and I don’t have any of that now. They don’t exist in this time and in my time they’re-they’re dead.” The boy let out a strangled sob. “I was supposed to save them. I was… I was supposed to be a h-hero.”

Dumbledore gingerly reached out and grasped Harry’s hands. “Harry, I can’t claim to know exactly what happens in the future. I don’t know what happened or what I ever told you or who died, but I will tell you now. You are okay here. Everyone is safe right now. They haven’t died yet, have they?”

“But they will.” Harry’s voice was shaking. “And I will too.”

“Well, that’s why you’re here now, isn’t it? To stop it from happening?”

Dumbledore wondered if the boy had passed out at this point, and was preparing to carry him back to his chambers before he finally spoke again.

“I’ll never be able to go back.”

Dumbledore wished he could disagree.

 

 

Three hours later Harry was in the library, dark circles under his still-red eyes as he wandered the Restricted Section, pulling off every single book he could find that could contain any mention of Time Travel. Most of the school was in class at the time, so Harry found himself in blissful silence as he settled down at a table and cracked a book open.

He read with a feverish haze that came with sleep deprivation and hangovers, reading ten words but understanding none. It made him feel like he was doing something though, accomplishing something, made his dejection and loneliness feel valid as nothing gave any clue to travelling fifty years back into the future.

Time passed in a haze, and not even when the bell rang did Harry realize he’d been staring at the same page for over an hour. His head ached and his eyelids were drooping, but he wouldn’t fall asleep. Just existed for a while in a state of discomfort.

No, he didn’t even notice the world as students flooded into the library during the half hour before lunch. Didn’t even notice Tom Riddle saunter in and sit across the table from him. Didn’t even think until the silky voice stated his name.

Harry panicked, dropping his book and shooting up straight in his seat. Tom let out a low whistle.

“You look terrible,” he stated.

Harry muttered something. Not even he was really sure what he was trying to say. Tom cocked an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

“You do realize that people require sleep, correct?”

Harry, too dazed to actually comprehend the situation, didn’t respond.

“Don’t make me carry you to your room.”

Harry took his time, really trying to process the statement.

“You… you wouldn’t do that,” he managed after a moment, rubbing his eyes. “That’s something nice people do.” His brain desperately tried to pull itself together for the conversation but nothing was adding up correctly and he just felt more confused.

“What makes you think I’m not nice?” Harry wouldn’t have picked up on the slight hurt even if he was coherent.

“I dunno. You kill people.”

He would have normally noticed Tom’s face pale at the statement. But at this time, exhausted and hungover and overall miserable, he was still staring at his stack of books as if wondering how they got there.

“Harry, when did you sleep last?”

He shrugged.

“Where are your rooms?”

“Beige.” At least he knew that.

“I’m taking you up to my dorm. Do you need these books?”

“What books?”

Tom swept the stack of books into his bag as Harry stared on, eyes unfocused, before roughly shoving his arm underneath Harry’s shoulders and dragging the smaller teen to his feet and pushing his other arm at Harry’s knees until they buckled.

“You’re being pathetic,” Tom stated as he marched out of the library..

  
  


Tom stared at the black-haired boy now laying in his bed, eyes open but glossy.

“Sleep,” Tom commanded.

Harry didn’t appear to have heard.

Tom growled in frustration, sitting at the end of the bed.

“This is _pathetic_ , you know,” he snapped. “You’re better than this.”

Harry curled up, muttering something under his breath.

“What was that?”

Tom wasn’t sure why he was so upset over this. Harry was a complete mystery, and at first Tom had felt elated at finding him in the library. He could see what Harry was reading about, maybe find a piece to the puzzle before him.

But no. Harry was a mess. A weak, tired, mess and it bothered him in ways he couldn’t begin to describe.

“Go away,” Harry mumbled.

Tom was ready to snap.

“Go away,” he repeated, not quite believing his ears. “I drag your sorry arse out of the library while you’re practically dozing at the table and carry you all the way up to my dorm after days of you not speaking a _single word_ to me, probably avoiding everyone, and stay here and make sure you’re alright and you tell me to _go away_?”

Harry’s head was buried underneath a pillow.

“You don’t do it because it’s right, you do it for the gratitude,” his muffled voice stated. Tom gaped. “No, other way around,” Harry clarified after a moment. “Wait, what did you say?”

“Just get some sleep,” Tom said after a moment. “I’ll check on you after Arithmancy.”

“Ermynee ‘as suddy froup for tha’” Harry’s voice ground out through the pillow, followed by some gibberish Tom couldn’t hope to decipher.

  
  
  


Harry screamed when he returned.

At first Tom thought it was because of him, his presence somehow terrifying his new interest, but as he approached he realized Harry was asleep.

The scream ended abruptly, just to be replaced by jagged breaths and broken words.

“Stop. I’ll do it, I’ll do it, please… please… I don’t-Dumbledore, I can’t-” Harry rolled over, shaking. “Do it yourself, they’ll kill you when-I can stand watch. I can protec- I’ll do my best, Draco, _I’ll do my best_. Just make sure Cedric doesn’t grab it. He’ll come back. If I didn’t he’d still be-Draco-Draco I’m sorry. I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_ …”

Tom watched for a while, listening in wonder as Harry slowly began to beg forgiveness from countless people and eventually for mercy.

Harry’s shrieks eventually died down to silent, shaking sobs, and Harry cracked his eyes open, pulling his blankets closer.

“So,” Tom started as nonchalantly as he could, “I believe you owe me some explanations?”

Harry gaped, the realization of where he was quickly hitting him.

“I don’t owe you jack shit,” he snapped, scrambling out of bed. He practically shook as he stood, and leaned against the nightstand heavily.

“And why not?”

“Why would I? You-you killed my-I mean, you kidnapped me!”

“That’s the second time you’ve suggested I’m a murderer,” Tom stated coolly. “I do not appreciate it. And also, I did not _kidnap_ you. You were falling asleep in the library and I simply moved you to a safer place.”

“So I’m free to go,” Harry said.

Tom debated this. He was more likely to get answers if he waited, he decided, and nodded once. “Yes.”

“Sweet. Bye.”

And Harry bravely took two steps before falling face-first on the ground.

Tom rolled his eyes before reaching a hand down to help him, but Harry ignored it as he clambered back up.

“Perhaps you should stay here a while longer,” Tom suggested. “At least until you can walk unassisted.”

Harry shook his head. “No, no, I’ve got my own chambers.”

“And how would you propose you get to those?”

“Fine! Fine. I’m leaving here by tonight, though.” Harry flopped back on top of the green covers.

Tom nodded. “Finally an ounce of wisdom out of you. Now, I must be off to Divination. As much of a joke as that class is, Professor Archsight would have my hide for missing out on a lecture about my dark, evil future.”

“Sounds like he knows what he’s talking about,” Harry muttered. Tom ignored him and walked briskly out the door, placing wards to prevent Harry’s departure before heading to class.

  
  
  


“ _Accio Tom Riddle’s Diary_ ,” Harry stated the second the boy left. He was going to make something of this situation, Merlin be damned.

Of course, obtaining the diary wasn’t that easy. Riddle wasn’t a complete dunderhead, and there was, of course, a very good chance that the diary wasn’t here at all. Could be locked away in the Chamber of Secrets, actually.

Harry should probably get that opened and sorted out ASAP.

Yes. That’s something he could do. A solid, tangible goal.

Destroy Tom’s first horcrux and go kill the basilisk. Voldemort was essentially a definite; people were not Harry’s strong suit and there wasn’t much he could do in the ways of changing them. Of course he depended on them, but… Purposely manipulating them to become something else was a no go.

But this? This he could do. This was a life-risking heroic adventure and Fate be damned he could do this and make everyone’s life in the future so much easier.

So, ignoring his shaking legs, Harry rolled off the bed and yanked open the drawers to the nightstand, emptying their contents one by one. No diary, no diary, no dia- _what was Riddle doing with that oh dear lord_ -no diary, no diary…

Harry glanced at the clock in the corner of the room. He had no clue when Tom was going to return next, but the next class should end in an hour. Okay. Okay, good.

He hastily shoved everything back to place and crawled over to Riddle’s trunk. To his surprise, it actually opened for him. Spell book, spell book, was that-no, nope, just another spell book. Shit.

Okay, well not all hope was lost. He could get it out of Tom somehow. He knew it, he knew it, he knew it.

 

 


	8. Addiction

The dreamless sleep potion was becoming an addiction that none of them were willing to break.

Ron occasionally joked about the lot of them all ending up in rehab trying to wean themselves on the stuff, which always brought a couple nervous giggles out of Hermione and a dead look from Draco, but the jest lied to close to the truth for any of them to find any humor in it. Harry had tried to go a night without it but when he started screaming and thrashing in the midst of a nightmare half an hour later, he didn’t hesitate to gulp down the vial Draco passed him.

But dreams are a natural part of human existence and without them emotions can’t be processed, and it was clear that the lack of true rest was taking its toll on the friends. Their bodies were rested but their minds were not, and snapping and shouting became large parts of their interactions.

All of them hated it.

  
  


Harry took the potion to Dumbledore to get it checked out, and, upon the professor’s confirmation that it was indeed a dreamless sleep potion, Harry wasted no time in heading to bed. He wasn’t sure how long he was out, really, but when he woke up he felt… almost good.

He laid flat on his back, staring at the beige ceiling , unmoving, for quite a while. Some part of him wanted to fall asleep again, but he wasn’t sure if the potion had worn off or not. The last thing he needed ruining his peace was a nightmare.

Harry didn’t get up, either. He wasn’t sure what he’d really do if he did. He could try to break into the Headmaster’s office and see if the Sword of Gryffindor was there or not, or try and get Tom’s diary again, but…

Hunger gnawed at his stomach. He ignored it.

The feeling of pointlessness started to settle again and Harry unceremoniously flopped over and shut his eyes, embracing the darkness.

  
  


Headmaster Dippet was acutely aware of all the goings-ons in the castle. So, naturally, he knew when his time-travelling…  _ guest _ , for lack of a better term, stopped leaving his chambers. He didn’t care much, really, the boy had his own problems to sort out that Dippet had nothing to do with, and it was clear that he didn’t pose a threat to anyone at Hogwarts other than  _ maybe _ Tom Riddle. But Tom could hold his own, Dippet was certain.

Regardless of what Harry Potter had said about Tom’s future, Dippet had to make sure Tom was protected at Hogwarts anyways. A student was a student, and Tom was exceptionally bright. Must’ve been some fluke in Harry’s memory. There was no way Tom would become this  _ Voldemort _ figure. Utter nonsense.

But really, he shouldn’t have been surprised when Tom immediately took to the mysterious little time traveller. And he shouldn’t have been surprised when Tom stopped him in the hallway after a week if the man’s self-imposed isolation to demand what happened.

“I can’t say I know where he is, Tom. You’ve checked the library? Quidditch Pitch? Hagrid’s hut?” Dippet asked, feigning ignorance. Tom nodded, impatience furrowing his brow. “He must be in his chambers then. Maybe you can talk to him another time?”

“Sir, he’s been missing for a week. He hasn’t left the castle, has he?”

“I would know if anyone left Hogwarts. He is here, just seems to wish some time alone. He’ll come out eventually.”

“Where are his chambers?”

Dippet sighed. “Tom, I cannot divulge that information to students. I can stop by and tell him you were looking for him-”

“No, sir. That’s quite alright. Thank you, I’ll be on my way.”

_ Teenagers are weird _ , Dippet thought as Tom walked away.  _ Tom and Harry especially so. _

  
  


“Professor Slughorn,” Tom said with all the false cheer he could muster. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Professor Potter’s chambers are, would you? I had something I wanted to give to him.”

Slughorn grinned heartily, pausing his examination of Tom’s potion for a moment. “Ah. Yes. Odd bloke, isn’t he? Pretty sure he was in the third corridor away from Gryffindor Tower, with the painting of the garden. Perfect brew as always, Tom!”

Abraxas sneered as Slughorn left. “Stalking him now, are you?”

Tom glared back. “I beg your pardon?”

“The Potter boy. Never pegged you for a poof, Riddle.”

“I’d watch your tongue, Abraxas. Harry is one of the strongest wizards this pathetic school has ever seen, and he could become a rather valuable asset.”

“You’ve already  _ got _ valuable assets. How’s the heritage research coming along?”

Tom stiffened. “It’s going.”

“Has he got you enchanted? Pull yourself  _ together _ , Riddle. You’ve got bigger things to think about than some snot-nosed professor. Honestly. I’m not sure if I even know you anymore.”

“I am no different than I was before. I merely have another objective.”

“Getting Potter in your bed?”

“You know such things do not interest me, Abraxas.”

“With the way you’ve been following him around, I beg to differ.”

“He is valuable. You will see.”

“I’d better.”

He and Tom didn’t speak for the rest of Potions, or Arithmancy, or even when Tom left in the wrong direction for lunch. Tom sighed as he made his way to a plain-colored door next to the painting Slughorn had specified. He’d have to find some way to pull his followers back in-he really _ had _ been distracted since Harry showed up, and it was costing him dearly. He couldn’t lose control of his small following.

He didn’t knock, just unlocked the door with a lazy flick of his wand and walked in. Hm. Harry hadn’t warded the place at all.

Or decorated. Tom wrinkled his nose as the door swung open. He didn’t know a room could be so…  _ beige _ . The only thing that wasn’t the putrid color was the mop of a boy splayed out face-down on the bed. Abraxas’s words echoed in his head and he choked back any thought he might have on the sight.

“Harry,” Tom said, gingerly walking over to the bed. Glass crunched beneath his feet and Tom looked down at the beige carpet to see what appeared to be the sad remains of a lamp strewn about the floor. Tom sighed. “Harry!”

The man in questioned let out some muffled response into a pillow.

“Have you been locked in here all week?” Tom demanded.

Harry made a feeble attempt at rolling over, managing to at least get on his side. Dear Merlin, he  _ still _ hadn’t taken a shower. “What? I wasn’t  _ locked. _ ”

Tom shut the door and pulled a chair over. “You just willingly hid away in your room, not doing  _ anything, _ for a week?”

“Nothing to do,” Harry mumbled. “I’m tired.”

“How can-Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“Doing what?”

Tom took a deep breath. “Go take a shower.”

“Wha? How’d you even get in here? How’d you know where I  _ was _ ?”

“I asked Slughorn, and I walked in. You didn’t ward your room  _ at all _ , you-”

Harry slowly sat up and stretched. “So… You’re stalking me now, too?”

Tom grimaced. “It’s not  _ stalking _ .”

“Yeah, whatever.” The empty tone in Harry’s voice should’ve been disconcerting, but Tom was just relieved he sounded awake. “I’ll go take this shower then, your highness. Don’t walk in on me or I’ll jinx you.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Tom ground out. Harry rolled his eyes and escaped to the attached bathroom.

Tom sat in silence as he heard the water turn on and examined his surroundings once more. The room was fairly small, and the sheets on the bed were clumped together at the foot. Shards of glass from the broken lamp were dragged about everywhere by this point, but most were in a scattered pile next to the lamp shade at the wall opposite Harry’s bed. His wardrobe was shut and he didn’t have any trunk with his belongings.

Harry’s shower was short, and he walked in moments later, soaking wet with a towel tightly wrapped around his waist. His ribs were clearly visible, and stomach sunken in. His skin was pale and decorated with half-healed scars, and while he had muscle, he looked weak. Weak and broken.

This had no effect on the force he flung his wardrobe open with before yanking out a shirt and some Muggle jeans before hurriedly returning to the bathroom.

He returned a moment later, fully dressed but not dry, and fell ungracefully back on his bed.

“So,” he said, pulling his wand out and twirling it between his fingers. “What do you want this time?”

Tom frowned. “Well, as you remember, we  _ are  _ friends, and I’m fairly certain friends don’t need a reason-”

“Stop. Stop right there.” Harry sat up once more, pulling one leg up to his chest and resting his chin on his knee. “We are not friends. We never  _ were _ friends. You dragged me along to Slughorn’s party and then repeatedly violated my personal space and privacy and then entered my room without permission. I don’t know what fucked up idea of friendship you have, but this isn’t how it works.”

“I-oh, alright then. What are we, then?”

And, to his surprise, Harry laughed. He fell over, knees pulled up to his chest, and laughed. Tom watched with interest. It didn’t sound happy, really, just…

“The future dark lord just broke into my room, made me take a shower and asked what he and I are,” Harry stated. Tom frowned slightly. Harry was staring at the ceiling, having rolled onto his back. “And I thought my life was confusing before.”

“Future dark lord?” Tom questioned.

“Yep,” Harry said, popping the “p.”

_ He’s either insane or drunk _ , Tom thought miserably. “I have some questions for you,” Tom tried.

“Doesn’t everyone.”

“Do you hate me?” Tom wasn’t quite sure where that came from.

“Do you think I do?”

“I don’t know. You’re rather confusing.”

“I do. Sometimes. Not now, though. Now you’re being oddly-” Harry glanced over at him- “well, you’re not pinning me up against anything, which is a nice change of pace.”

“You seem panicked every time I do.”

“No shit.”

“I’d rather prefer you didn’t hate me.”

“I’d rather prefer you didn’t kill anyone, but hey, we can’t have everything we want in life.”

Harry was definitely insane.

“Why do you think I kill people?”

“Well, so far you’ve only killed one person, haven’t you?” Harry said, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Myrtle Warren.”

Tom’s stomach plummeted. “How-”

“How’d you train the Basilisk?”

Tom’s hands shook. This was not going as planned. “I… I didn’t. It listened to me anyways because I was the Heir.”

Harry let out a sigh. “Of course. And where’s your diary?”

“What diary?”

“Your first Horcrux?”

_ First? _ “You can make more than one Horcrux?”

Harry fell silent. “Oh yeah. You asked Slughorn about that at Christmas, didn’t you?” he muttered. “Don’t do it, Tom. Bad idea. Bad,  _ bad _ idea. Hell, the first one was stupid.”

One part of Tom wanted to leave whatever the hell this was, but more than that, he needed to know.

“What happens? In the future?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“A lot.”

“I need more than that, Harry. I need to know.”

“Yeah, well, I’m currently  _ changing _ the future, so I can’t say for sure.”

“Harry-”

“Don’t ask me about the future.”

“I-okay. Okay.” He could get that information later. Best to start smaller, anyways. “Do you know anything about my ancestry?”

“What do you know already?”

“Salazar Slytherin is one of my ancestors and I’m pretty sure I’m from the Gaunt line. My dad was a wizard.”

Harry barked out a laugh. “Wrong.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you the truth if you promise me you won’t kill any of them.”

“Any of who?”

“Your ancestors.”

“I-”

“Actually, promises don’t count for shit when you’re evil, do they?” Harry mused. “Should think of something else. Unbreakable Vows we need a third person here for. God, one day I’ll be looking into the Pensieve and-ugh. I hate this, you know. Not you. Well, yes you, but just…  _ this _ .”

“I won’t kill anyone,” Tom said after a moment. “I just want to know. I don’t want to kill any of my family members.”

“That’s what you think now,” Harry said.

“I’ll find out, with or without you.”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. And I can always stalk you right back to make sure you don’t go out killing anyone. Merlin knows that’s what I did with…” he trailed off, and Tom noticed Harry’s jaw clenched. “Alright. Nothing to lose anyways. You ready?”

Tom nodded.

“Your dad wasn’t a wizard. His name was Tom Riddle Sr. He was a Muggle. Your mom, however, was a witch. Her name was Merope Gaunt, and she grew up with her brother and father. They were poorer than the Weasleys.” Harry paused. “Merope fell in love with Tom, but he never paid her any notice. Whether it was true love or just the need to escape her family, she enchanted Tom with a love potion until she got pregnant with you. He snapped out of it, left her with his child, and she was left on the streets. She gave birth to you at your orphanage and died shortly after.”

Tom blinked. “You’re lying to me.”

“Figured you’d think that. Well, now that I’ve established myself as an unreliable source, you can leave.”

“No, wait, no,” Tom’s mind was spinning. He fought to get his thoughts in order. “Okay. Where did they live?”

“I refuse to tell you.”

“Why?”

“You’d kill them.”

“I told you I wouldn’t.”

“I have absolutely no reason to trust you.”

The words hurt more than he cared to admit.

Tom shifted in his chair. “You could trust me with that information, though. And now I have a name.”

“You’ve always had a name. You were told that you were named after your dad, and already knew you had some connection to the Gaunts. I didn’t tell you anything you wouldn’t have found out yourself.”

“Well, now I can go find out where they live.”

“Yes you can. I’d advise against going there, though. You won’t like what you find.”

“I didn’t like what I heard.”

“It’ll just get worse. Trust me.”

“But you don’t trust me.”

“No. No I don’t.”

“You said I was a dark lord earlier.”

Harry snorted. “I take that back. You’re just a git. Also, no future questions.”

Tom sighed and the two of them relaxed in the silence. It wasn’t tense, for once, or angry or awkward. Just quiet.

“Why’s your room so beige?” Tom asked after a moment.

“It was like this when I came in. I can’t change it.” There wasn’t any humor in his voice.

“Ah. And the lamp?”

“Threw it against the wall.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Felt like it.”

Harry’s hair was drier, now, and stuck up in every direction even as he lay still. His scar was fairly visible with his bangs swept to the side, and his glasses were slightly skewed on his nose.

“You’re insane,” Tom said.

“They all said I would be.” Something changed in Harry’s voice. “I always hoped I’d keep it together. I had friends to support me then, at any length.”

“You have me, now.”

Harry closed his eyes.

“Where’d you get your scar?”

“That doesn’t matter right now.”

Tom frowned before approaching his next questions.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“What are you, my mom?” Harry’s tone was bitter.

“I’d like to be your friend, actually.”

“I just told you. We’re not friends.”

“But I’d like to be.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“Do you want me to get you some food from the kitchens?”

“If I wanted to eat, I’d eat. Go away, Riddle.”

Tom frowned. “I have more questions.”

“I don’t care. Go away.”

“Will you leave your room?”

“Eventually, yes.”

“Being locked up in here can’t be healthy."

“ _ Away, _  Riddle."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh goodness gracious it's been a while I'm so sorry  
> ap tests just got done  
> fingers crossed for a 5 in history god knows i never want to suffer through another one of those classes again  
> anyways i've been working on chapter 10 so i'll probably post chapter 9 in a couple a days too and i mean there's a reason this document is titled "the giant hp fic i'm gonna regret" in my com poo tor  
> alright well  
> i hope you people enjoy this i occasionally get emails saying someone actually kudo'd it i'm just surprised people are still reading this  
> sorry i'm trash  
> this year has been hell  
> and also this chapter was originally titled isolation but i thought addiction was more fitting  
> c:


	9. Maybe I Care

“You spend the summer with your relatives, right?” Draco asked hesitantly. They were laying out on the grounds, snowflakes dancing above their noses. Both were thoroughly soaked from the snowball fight-no,  _ war _ -that had broken out an hour ago.

“Yeah,” Harry said. His vision was blotted by the little water spots that melted on his glasses.

“And they’re… Muggles?”

“Yup.” Harry wasn’t quite sure he liked where this conversation was headed, but he figured it would’ve come up eventually.

“What’s that like?” Oh. Well, that was better than he expected.

“I dunno. Different. They’re not the nicest people, as I’m sure you’ve heard. I hate not being able to use magic, but… It’s not too bad, I guess.”

Draco seemed to mull this over. “What do they do exactly, the Muggles?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You said they’re not nice. How are Muggles capable of doing anything harmful to a-a wizard?”

Harry snorted. “A wizard can’t exactly do much if he’s banned from using magic, Malfoy.”

“We hex and jinx each other,” Draco said. “What do Muggles even  _ do _ ?”

“Punch. Hit. Slap. Kick,” Harry listed. “Physical harm like that. They didn’t like that I was a wizard, either. The Dursleys insulted me a lot, too. Not so different from you.” Harry smirked.

Draco sharply inhaled. “Potter, I didn’t-”

“Relax, Malfoy. I was kidding. But when I was younger, well, they weren’t given any choice in taking me in. I was a freak to them and they treated me as such.” The Dursleys seemed so distant now, so trivial, with the war brewing and Sirius dying. “I didn’t know I was a wizard until my eleventh birthday.”

Draco rolled onto his side, grey eyes wide. “ _ What? _ ” he demanded. “The great Harry Potter didn’t know-”

“They thought they could beat it out of me. My magic, I mean. When my letter came, addressed to my exact location, my cupboard-they moved me to a larger room in the house. When more came, my uncle ended up driving us to this shack in the middle of bloody  _ nowhere _ and Hagrid came and burst the door down, gave me a birthday cake and told me I was a wizard.” Harry laughed. Merlin, he could remember it like it was yesterday. “He took me to Diagon Alley and essentially threatened the Dursleys into letting me go to Hogwarts.”

Draco snarled, and Harry found blond hair dripping onto his face and a heavy weight on his stomach. “That’s just  _ wrong, _ ” he muttered. “They should’ve been  _ honored _ to have a wizard in the family, mere Muggles…”

“Malfoy,” Harry said softly. “They lived in a different world. They didn’t want me. It wasn’t their choice.”

“I can’t believe you’d actually  _ defend them _ ,” Draco said. “They beat you?”

“Not much, especially after I started going to Hogwarts. They were scared of me then. Not all Muggles are like them, though. Most of them really aren’t any different from wizards. They just have electricity and technology in place of magic,” Harry said. “Now get off me, you great oaf. I can barely breathe.”

Draco smirked, shifting slightly so he was on all fours, still caging Harry in. “Better?”

“Malfoy,” Harry said warningly, but Draco suddenly dropped his head, nuzzling his neck.

“I can’t stay mad at the Muggles when you’re like this,” Draco muttered. “You realize how pretty you are with snowflakes caught in your hair?”

Harry laughed as Draco smiled against his skin.

  
  


Harry spent the night flying circles around the Quidditch pitch. The Cleansweep he was on now was the one of the same ones that was at Hogwarts during his time. He shuddered to think what awful condition the previous brooms had been in that the school had gotten these ones.

He wasn’t sure what day it was anymore, or how long he’d been out there. Time ceased to have meaning. Everything was just a blur at this point.

Maybe he had gone mad, like some time travelers supposedly did. Or maybe he had gone mad like everyone expected The Boy Who Lived to. Or maybe he wasn’t mad at all now. He certainly didn’t feel it-just empty, more than anything, and lost.

Tom was the only person alive at the moment who really pulled any reaction out of him, and that was a concerning thought in itself. He could also, of course, feel if he remembered his past, but, well, he preferred the emptiness to the crushing guilt and despair that came with the deaths.

He considered falling off his broom as he hiked into the sky. It’d look like an accident. It was the dead of night and nobody knew what kind of flier he was. His body would be broken and mangled, and he’d be buried, reunited with his love and his friends. Nobody would attend his funeral, but there was nobody alive he wanted to anyways. It’d be so easy.

Harry couldn’t even see the ground in the misty darkness. It was bitterly cold, and the wind was picking up as the night wore on. If the impact didn’t kill him, the cold certainly would.

He kept circling none the less, completing loop after loop, slowing down, speeding up, diving and twirling. As the sun began to rise he dropped himself, catching himself each and every time with his broom, falling an inch more than before, a foot, a yard…

“Harry!”

Harry missed his broom and almost panicked as he slipped through the air, but then again-Draco-

A voice screamed some charms and Harry felt his fall slow down. Not enough though, not enough. He could see his parents again, too-

Suddenly warm arms wrapped around him and his body weight was thrown against someone else’s, forcing them to stumble backwards but not to fall.

“Merlin’s beard, Harry,” a slightly panicked voice whispered into his ear. “What were you  _ doing? _ ”

Crying, apparently.

 

Tom stiffened as Harry sobbed, debating his options. This was  _ not _ how he was planning on spending his morning.

“Harry,” he started. The boy’s grip tightened around his back and he buried his face further into Tom’s chest. “Harry, as much as I enjoy this close proximity, I  _ did _ have something I wanted to discuss with you.”

Harry was barely supporting himself, and Tom debated dropping the boy on the ground. Harry was clearly out of it if he had fallen off his broom. Merlin, he could’ve  _ died. _

Tom dropped him anyways and Harry collapsed in a miserable heap.

“Harry,” Tom tried again. “Why are you crying?”

Harry didn’t even seem to notice, curling in on himself and shaking.

Tom’s nose scrunched up. Pathetic.

_ “Mobilicorpus,” _ he muttered, storming back up to the castle with Harry floating behind him. 

He was about halfway there when Harry seemed to come to his senses, and started thrashing. Tom spun on his heel and stared at him for a second.

“Can you walk yourself?” he demanded. Harry nodded and Tom dropped him on the ground again. “Come. I wanted to make a proposal, but there are a few other things I apparently need to discuss with you.”

He didn’t wait to see Harry’s response until they were in the Room of Requirement, which provided them with two couches and a coffee table. Harry slumped onto the yellow one, face red and puffy. Tom graciously sat across from him, hands folded carefully in his lap, and waited for Harry to say something. He didn’t.

Tom studied the boy before him, unsure of how to address the situation. Harry falling off his broom was definitely out of character, as was his crying, but he wasn’t sure what there was to discuss about it. Some sort of warning? Harry going off and dying certainly wouldn’t be helping Tom any. Really, the thought of Harry…  _ dead _ was disconcerting.

“How long were you out flying?”

“All night.”

“And… you were exhausted enough to fall off your broom?” Tom prompted, leaning in slightly.

“Something like that.”

“Ah.” Tom wasn’t quite sure what to do with that. “Don’t do it again.”

Harry pulled off his glasses and rubbed them against his cloak. “I guess.”

“I did some research.”

“I’m somehow not surprised. You’re a student, after all.”

“Little Hangleton.”

Harry froze. “Hm?”

“He lives in Little Hangleton.”

“And I suppose you’re going to go kill him now, then?” Harry’s voice was bitter and he didn’t look up to meet Tom’s eyes.

“I was simply planning on meeting him. I understand the house that belongs to the Gaunts is  there too?”

Harry stared at his glasses, still smudged, in his lap for a while.

“You’re not going there alone,” he said after a moment. “I can’t-You can’t go alone. I’m going with you.”

Tom resisted the urge to smirk. That went much easier than planned.

“Ah. I’ll be leaving the first day of Christmas break. Where should we meet, and what time?”

Harry stared at him with such a look of defeat that Tom almost felt bad. Almost.

“Great Hall, noon?” he suggested nonetheless and Tom nodded.

“Good. Now, I don’t suppose you’d be so kind as to answer more questions?”

“No.”

Tom frowned. “Why not?”

“Not in the mood.” He stood up to leave.

“Wait, Harry-”

“ _ What? _ ”

Tom quickly walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Sod off.”

“Harry, I haven’t seen you eat since you quit teaching.”

“Haven’t felt like it.”

“It’s almost been a month. You’ll die.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

Tom wasn’t quite aware of his grip tightening on Harry. “Don’t say that.”

“I’ll say what I want. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to-”

“Where? The kitchens, so you can drink yourself to sleep? The Quidditch Pitch, so you can fly until you fall? Your rooms so you can sleep for another week?”

Harry stiffened. “Let go of me.” His voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Give me one good reason why I should,” Tom hissed, roughly turning Harry around. The shorter boy’s face was still red, his eyes almost empty and dull.

“I don’t owe you anything, an explanation least of all,” Harry snapped, trying to pull himself out of Tom’s grip. However, exhaustion and starvation left him weak.

“Harry, I am trying to  _ help- _ ”

“I don’t  _ want _ your help!”

“Why not?”

“Why would I! You’re Lord bloody Vol-You  _ hate _ me!”

Tom stared for a second before shaking his head. “How can you even  _ think _ that?”

Harry opened his mouth, about to speak, before snapping it shut. He reached for his wand.

Tom let him go.

“Great Hall. Noon. First day of break,” he muttered, and walked out the door before Harry could.

  
  


Harry was painfully aware of his empty stomach. He could see himself wasting away in the mirror, could feel his body grow weaker as his legs began to refuse every step.

He looked at the painting that lead to the kitchens for a minute before walking away. He still wouldn’t eat. It wasn’t too different from the Dursleys, really, they didn’t give him much food either. They never starved him more than three days, at the most, but truly it was nothing new. Same pain, no gain.

He was fine. He had control over this.

And the hunger was able to put his mind off over things-things he  _ didn’t _ have control of. Like the fact that he was going to Little Hangleton and was going to meet Morfin and Tom Riddle Sr. and somehow have to stop Tom from killing his family. Like how he could never return to his time and see his remaining friends again. Like his inability to prevent the others’ deaths.

Like the way every encounter with Tom left him completely, utterly  _ rattled. _ Something was wrong with Tom, something beyond fixing. Harry couldn’t bring himself to truly dislike the boy anymore, but he couldn’t feel pity either. Something was just inherently  _ off _ about their relationship and Harry had no clue what to make of it. He was lost, alone,  _ stranded _ and Tom was the only one providing any support and that support was  _ wrong _ .

Harry wanted to talk to Dumbledore and receive advice but Dumbledore had no advice because Dumbledore wasn’t who he was supposed to be yet. Harry needed to rattle off his problems to Ron and get moral support but Ron wasn’t even a thought yet. Harry would’ve given anything to listen to one of Hermione’s lectures and solutions. He had a list of apologies to rattle off to Ginny to hear just one more word of faith. An entire night was spent wondering what Luna’s comments on his situation would be.

Harry could and would have killed to hear Draco say  _ anything _ one last time. So he slowly went about killing himself.

  
  
  


Tom showed up three days later at the room with a plate of food.

Harry didn’t have the energy required to sit up, let alone send him away.

“You’re going to eat this,” Tom informed him, settling next to him on the bed. Harry stared at him, eyes glazed, Draco’s last kiss on his mind. Tom scowled and set the tray aside before grabbing Harry under the shoulders and pulling him up to a sitting position, resting him against the headboard. Tom adjusted himself so he was sitting across from the boy and reached for an apple slice. “Harry? I brought food.”

The black-haired boy could’ve been dead if it weren’t for the soft rise and fall of his chest.

Tom studied him for a while before returning the apple slice and pulling out his wand.  _ “Aguamenti.” _

A blast of water hit Harry straight in the face and he let out a hoarse yelp, quickly reaching for his own wand and rubbing his eyes  _ (Where were his glasses?) _ before taking stock of his surroundings.

“I brought food,” Tom repeated.

Harry blinked, slowly understanding his situation. “I don’t want it,” he said stiffly.

“Too bad.” Tom handed him a bowl of soup. “I’m not leaving until you eat all of it.”

Harry stared at it as if it were some dark artifact set out to kill him.

“No.”

“Harry, as I’ve pointed out before,  _ you are dying. _ ”

“I’m well aware.”

“Eat.”

“No.”

“I will force you to. This is beneath you.”

“How would you know?”

“It’s obvious. Don’t be a waste of my time.”

“I already am.”

“Shut up and eat.”

And when Harry opened his mouth to protest, Tom shoved a spoonful of soup in and pressed his hand over Harry’s mouth and nose until he swallowed. Harry’s eyes almost lit up with fury, and he lifted his wand in defense. Tom disarmed him in a blink and forced more soup into his mouth. Harry attempted to lick his hand in the vain hope that Tom would remove it in disgust, but Tom didn’t waiver.

“I have been watching you waste away since you got here,” he ground out, “and it has been the most pathetic, infuriating display I have  _ ever _ been forced to witness. Now eat or I will  _ make you. _ ”

Harry made him.

And when that was finished, Tom remained in the room, adamant he stay lest Harry try to regurgitate all his efforts. And so Tom witnessed Harry break down in an angry, wordless fit of tears and sobs.

Tom didn’t understand, of course. He didn’t understand that he had just stripped Harry of his last controlled aspect of life, didn't understand how much the hunger had meant to him, didn't understand that Harry truly wanted to die. And maybe in the long term that would be for the better. But for now, it made Harry’s miserable life worse.

Tom wasn’t aware of this, though. His half-baked plan for Harry didn’t involve the boy dead, however, and right now this seemed like the only way to keep him alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this dumbass story is currently a 63 page long story sucking up space in my google drive  
> why am i working on this finals are literally this week  
> i almost forgot to post this chapter and then somebody asked for it in the comments on the last chapter and i was like OH YEAH PEOPLE ARE ACTUALLY READING THIS THING  
> I KNOW OF AT LEAST TWO PEOPLE WHO WOULD ACTUALLY BE SAD IF IT BECAME ONE OF THOSE HALF FINISHED STORIES THAT SAT ON THE ARCHIVE FOR DECADES WITHOUT A CONCLUSION  
> CUZ I FUCKING HATE THAT SO MUCH  
> LIKE  
> AW YISS  
> BEAUTIFUL STORY  
> *REACHES CHAPTER 22*  
> SHIT THAT'S NOT THE END  
> *LOOKS AT UPDATE DATE*  
> *UPDATE DATE IS SEVEN YEARS AGO*  
> *GIVES UP ON HOPE*
> 
> anyways my summer's just stacked so I'd like to say it's gonna be updated more frequently but lol  
> probably not  
> don't kill me  
> i'm doing my best  
> i just need cash  
> and to learn physics before i take physics  
> and do summer reading assignments  
> and learn to play the trumpet  
> and to become certified in java or c++ or python idk which yet  
> and to drop more weight  
> and spend more time and harness train my small feathered son  
> and demos. fucking demos.  
> and yeah  
> lol my life's a mess  
> c:  
> i love all of you sorry absolutely none of this is relevant to anything nobody here cares about my life you're just here for the gay loving  
> more of it will come eventually never fear


	10. Lost Progress

Draco wasn’t expecting a very good Christmas. He was staying at Hogwarts as his contact with his parents had been limited, especially considering that the Dark Lord was  _ living with them _ now, and either way it would be too dangerous to leave the wards of the school when every Death Eater was prepared to kill him on sight.

Harry was staying too, thankfully, for slightly similar reasons. He claimed that going to the Burrow would just endanger the Weasleys, his Muggle family-Merlin did Draco hate them-never wanted him back for the holidays anyways, and, well, Harry refused to even think of Grimmauld Place since Sirius died.

So Draco wasn’t necessarily expecting a  _ bad _ Christmas. He just didn’t think he’d get anything, which is why the neatly wrapped, soft package that showed up under the tree came as a surprise. He couldn’t find any “from” tag on it, and it didn’t have Harry’s handwriting on it.

He had spent an hour checking it for any sort of trap before dropping it in his bag and wandering out to the Room of Requirement to meet Harry. He couldn’t be sure it was safe, and maybe his boyfriend would know something about it.

Boyfriend. The word sounded so  _ right _ .

He hummed as he did the needed pacing to get in and just as he pushed the door open Harry jumped on him, green eyes blazing with delight to match his smile. It took all of his strength to not be completely knocked down by the shorter boy, and he grinned back as he spun into the room. “Merry Christmas,” he muttered. Seeing Harry this happy was starting to become more and more of a rarity; the “Chosen One” was spending more and more time brooding over the prophecy, the Dark Lord, Dumbledore and Draco. He was easily frustrated, easily cross and it didn’t take much to get him yelling and screaming. Any mention of Sirius and you were as good as dead.

So yes. Seeing Harry this cheerful was wonderful, and it only got better when Draco pulled out the mysterious present. He didn’t even get the chance to question its safety before Harry started urging him to open it, scrambling around and finding a similarly wrapped one.

And when he got it open, Draco fought tooth and nail to prevent the smile that was threatening to split his face. In his lap laid a hand-knit sweater, dark green with a silver, shimmering D in the middle, with a small gold H embroidered on the right sleeve. Across from him, Harry had something similar-Red and gold with a giant H and a small silver D.

“But who-”

“Weasleys. Now here, this one’s from Ron and Hermione, and here’s Luna’s, and this one from me, and I brought some chocolate frogs...”

It was the best Christmas Draco ever had.

  
  
  


Tom had been stopping in Harry’s room every night after dinner with food swiped from the Great Hall for over a week before Harry finally spoke to him again.

“Why?”

_ Because you could be useful. Because you were powerful and still should be. Because you’re different. Because I want you to trust me. Because I want you to fall in love with me. _ Tom frowned slightly. “Because you need it.” It was still true.

Harry stared at his lap and Tom set about casting cleaning charms on him, something he had started doing after day three. Harry definitely just needed a full shower or bath still, without a doubt, but these would do for now.

Harry opened his mouth, as if to say something, before shutting it again and grabbing a pillow, squeezing it to his chest. He was wearing overly baggy clothes he had apparently dragged out of the lost and found, which made him look even smaller than he already was. His eyes had permanent dark rings under them, and his hair was even shaggier than normal. He stared at nothing for a while.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Harry muttered after a while.

Tom paused. “Done what?”

“I should’ve stayed in the present. I should’ve died.”

“Oh. I’m rather glad you came here, personally,” Tom said, shifting uncomfortably. “You were about to die?”

“Yes.”

“Was someone trying to kill you?”

Harry shrugged. Tom sucked in a breath.

“You-you were important in the future, weren’t you?” he asked after a while. Harry barked out a bitter laugh.

“Not by choice.”

Tom had the sense to tell the conversation was over. He picked up Harry’s empty food tray and left, this time not waiting to make sure Harry kept his meal down.

  
  
  


Two weeks before Christmas break started, Tom found Harry slumped, half inside his open wardrobe. Harry hadn’t cried in front of Tom since the first day, and Tom wondered on some level if Harry had simply run out of tears. It certainly seemed that way.

“Is there something wrong with the wardrobe?” Tom asked, making the bed with a spell. It’d been awhile since it was unoccupied.

“I’m not going to get one this year,” Harry said.

“One what?”

“Jumper.”

Tom sat down next to him. Harry was starting to get a bit more vocal, sporadically making some statement about something from his time. He never gave any names, or any specific locations. Tom wasn’t sure if Harry was consciously doing this to withhold knowledge or just because he simply didn’t have the presence of mind to connect any of them.

It seemed something had broken in Harry the day he fell off his broom, and Tom wasn’t sure if this babbling was any sort of recovery.

“You mean for Christmas?”

Harry nodded.

“You got one every year?”

“Since I met her,” Harry said. His eyes were still unfocused.

“Who was she?”

“Closest thing to a mother I ever had.”

Tom reached out for Harry’s face before sharply retracting his hand. Harry didn’t notice.

“Go on a walk with me,” he said instead.

Harry absently nodded. “I’m never going to have one again.”

Tom grabbed Harry’s hand and stood, pulling Harry up with him.

“Walk,” he repeated.

Harry stumbled along next to him, unaware of their linked hands, eyes barely processing the changing scenery.

They ended up out on the grounds, snow gently crunching underneath their boots. The beauty of the scene, the entire Forbidden Forest draped in white, ice shimmering in a thin sheet on top of the lake, the clouds a misty light gray and the ground clean under the powder, was lost on both of the boys as they wandered aimlessly.

“You liked these jumpers, then?” Tom was barely aware he’d spoken, but felt a surge of warmth, sharply contrasting from their surroundings, when Harry nodded. It was a single nod, barely more than a bob of a head, but he was listening. That was important. “What were they like?”

Harry went for a while without speaking, stopping to stare up at the sky for a while.

“A little too big,” he said after a moment. Tom frowned, and was about to comment before Harry continued talking. “Lovely and warm, as Fred and George put it. She always changed their colors each year, except for Ron’s. Ron’s was always maroon.” A ghost of a smile touched Harry’s lips. “Hand-knit. The best presents I ever got.”

Tom swallowed. “Fred, George and Ron got them too? How many people did?”

Harry smirked, an actual expression filling half his face, and he looked at his taller companion. “Don’t ask about the future, Riddle.” Tom opened his mouth, ready to explain before Harry cut him off again. “As many people needed them, but mostly just me and the Weasleys.”

Weasley. That was a familiar name…

“Any reason we’re holding hands?” Harry asked, lifting their joined hands up. Tom quickly yanked his hand back, cursing himself for blushing.

“We’re not,” he said instead. Harry smiled once more, eyes still empty, before falling quiet again.

After Harry was returned to his room safely with some toast and an apple, Tom sighed.

  
  
  


Edward Longbottom hadn’t seen the mysterious Professor Potter in quite some time. Rumor had it the man had moved out of Hogwarts, but Edward wasn’t so sure. He was pretty sure he’d seen him lurking through the halls in the evening, and wanted to believe the dark figure flying in the night was the mysterious teacher. He couldn’t have left - he said he was staying at Hogwarts for the year, after all.

The prefect aimlessly wandered the grounds. His mind was clear of his studies, but the snowy landscape still failed to capture his attention. The professor seemed to like him, back when school started, and he was a little disappointed he hadn’t done more to stay in contact. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to find him again. Maybe take him down to the Three Broomsticks and learn something of his life, or just ask him for tutoring in Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was obvious Potter knew what he was doing and it’d be a great starting point to learn more from him.

Edward just had to go about finding him now. Dumbledore should know of the odd man’s rooms, and if worse came to worse he could always check with Slughorn.

The air went dark and damp as a cloud passed over the sun, and Edward turned to head inside. He paused when a figure caught his eye with a mass of green. Further inspection showed that it was Tom Riddle with a heap of shiny yarn and what appeared to be… knitting needles?

It was obvious the ass didn’t know how to knit. Edward sneered inwardly before striding inside.

  
  
  


Dumbledore wasn’t exactly surprised to see shards of glass imbedded in Harry’s carpet, but didn’t mask his disappointment when the child was curled up, unshaven, unshowered, in the middle of his bed with toast crumbs and half an apple rotting around him. A couple quick spells tidied everything up and Dumbledore gingerly sat at the foot of the beige bed. The room really was awful. Not an ounce of personality in it.

Harry was awake and aware but did nothing to acknowledge the man’s presence. Dumbledore didn’t mind much and the two sat in silence, just letting the day tick by.

“He has changed quite a bit,” Dumbledore said at last.

Harry said nothing.

“Not for the worse, either. There is something still clearly wrong with him, something wrong in his soul that I don’t believe can ever be healed, but… He has changed. I take it you’ve had something to do with this?”

Harry shrugged. “He says he wants to be friends.”

“And are you?”

“I don’t know.”

Dumbledore nodded once, hand raising to adjust his spectacles. “Would it be alright with you if I ask about the future?”

Harry’s breathing paused. “Why? I figured you of all people would be wise enough not to ask.”

Dumbledore smiled a bit. “Perhaps I have not gained that wisdom quite yet, and I must indulge in my curiosity should you allow it.”

Harry fell quiet before shrugging once more. “Fire away.”

Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow before starting. “You mentioned that I tried to kill you, but didn’t mean for you to die. It was just an unavoidable consequence. Is that true?”

A short, curt, nod.

“In that case I’m afraid I must apologize. Why did I do this?”

“There was no other option. Lord Voldemort was going to win, and I was the only one who could stop them. You used me to try to save everyone else and I failed.”

“You are only seventeen. It could not have been entirely on you.”

“It wasn’t up for you or me to decide.”

Dumbledore frowned. “And Tom is this Lord Voldemort?”

“He becomes him, yes.”

“How? He is powerful, but no more so than I. How could I let this happen?”

“Horcruxes. He’s already made one.”

Dead silence.

“Myrtle?”

“Yes.”

“When does he make the next?”

“He won’t. I’m going with him to meet his family.”

Dumbledore seemed at a loss there. “And he won’t stop you from doing so?”

“He seems to want me there. I don’t know.” Harry stared glossily at the wall. “I don’t understand.”

Dumbledore bit back his next question and took his leave. Harry still didn’t move.

  
  


It took Tom three days of knitting to give up on making the jumper himself and figured he’d find a better present. He failed to understand how Harry could like such garishly colored items anyways - the provided description had been atrocious. Besides, he wasn’t this Weasley person. He couldn’t knit the same way she did. Hell, they probably even knitted differently in the future.

And he needed to turn his attentions back to his followers for a while. Namely, Abraxas. The Malfoy had been outright hostile to him over the past weeks, but should be pleased to hear of Riddle’s progress. He had, after all, learned that he could make multiple horcruxes and where his family was. He could claim he was learning more Dark Arts from Harry as well.

But the conversation with Abraxas didn’t go quite like that. Sure, the Malfoy was relieved to hear that Tom had been making progress, but the mention of Harry brought on a scowl. At the end of the two hour discussion, Tom was lucky to still just have the pureblood on his side.

If he really wanted to secure Abraxas’s loyalty, it would’ve been wiser to stay away from Harry for  a while. But then, if Harry was neglected, he could actually die. Tom frowned at the memory of Harry plummeting through the sky, nothing but the cold, icy ground to break his fall.

If Harry was dead, though, he wouldn’t pose a threat to Tom’s plans.

But he wasn’t one anyways.

And Tom could use more firepower.

So yes, it was still in his best interests to keep Harry alive and on his side, he reasoned. Tom casted a quick Tempus for the time before heading down to Harry’s room. Maybe giving him a gift with some actual color in it would get him on his side. He couldn’t imagine being stuck in such a dull, ugly dungeon.

Unsurprisingly, Harry was slumped on the bed when he showed up, almost completely unresponsive to the muted creak of the door opening. It appeared he had actually cleaned up the broken lamp, which was quite a nice change of pace. Tom glided over to where Harry’s head rested and gently prodded him.

“Get up,” Tom ordered.

Harry scowled some and uncurled himself. “‘Hell do you want,” he grumbled.

“Have you eaten?”

“Gave me toast and an apple earlier. Yes.”

Tom nodded. That was good.

“And what’re your plans for the week?”

“None of your business.”

Tom frowned. “Surely you can spare some time to go on a walk this Tuesday?”

“Maybe. Now leave.”

Tom’s mind reeled, searching for an excuse to stay. “Would you like more dreamless sleep?”

“Already got some from Slughorn. Go.”

“Are you sure it’s effective? I have better.”

“He’s one of the finest brewers I know. Now leave.”

“Do you really want that?” Tom dropped so he squatted eye level with Harry. “To be alone here, in your room, no friends, no family, nothing to stay with you through the night?”

Harry’s frown deepened. “Yes.”

Tom frowned in return. “You do not strike me as the person to seek solitude. Perhaps this… time jump… has made you seem more pathetic and lonely than you normally are, but certainly you do not enjoy this isolation. Surely you want a companion. A friend, perhaps.”

“And perhaps you should sod off, Riddle,” Harry snapped back.

“You will let me stay.”

“And why do you want to?” Harry’s voice shook as it rose.

“Why do you want me to go?” And in response, Tom almost whispered.

“Why should I tell you?”

“I’m staying,” Tom announced abruptly, cutting off further debate.

“And I’m leaving,” Harry said, shoving himself off the bed.

“No,” Tom interjected, grabbing Harry’s arm and pulling him back down. “You’re staying too. We are both staying here. For the night. Together.”

Harry stared at him. “What is it with you and all this rapey shit? Drag me up to your room one night, refuse to leave mine another. What’s next? Me waking up in secluded passages half naked? Drugged drinks?”

Tom cocked an eyebrow. “As if I would need to resort to rape to sleep with you.”

Mistake. Big mistake. Tom’s eyes widened as he processed what he said and Harry reeled back, indignity and rage reddening his face.

“That’s what you want?” Harry demanded.

Tom didn’t have a chance to respond before the door was slammed and Harry was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO LIKE  
> I'M SO SORRY  
> I'VE BEEN LEAVING YOU GUYS HANGING FOR SO LONG  
> well life is still crazy af but turns out i had this half-written so i just kinda touched it up and just like  
> jeez i'm sorry folks. kinda frustrated with my own writing because i feel i really haven't incorporated other characters enough and it's just kinda shallow and lame but whatever i'm trying  
> thank you so much for all the kind reviews! without them, i definitely would've just kinda left this story in the depths of my computer and eventually completely ignored its existence. i'll try to be better about updating, especially this summer.  
> also wow so many new tom/harry fics since i've left  
> makes me happy  
> alright well i hope you all have a lovely day


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